UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


CO 


OLD        MIAMI 


'TrAVKI.KKS   on    THK    lUMBKRlNd    OXKOHI)   STAIIK    HAD    AMl'IK   TIMK   T.) 

mkdhatk  ui'ON  THEIR  SINS."     Page '20. 


OLD  MIAMI 

The  Yale  of  the  Early  West 


BT 

Alfred  H,  Upham 


Illustrated  by 

Alice  Rebekah  Robinsou 


The  Republican  Publishing  Co. 

Hamiltost,    Ohio 

1800 


COPXKIGHTED    BX 

ALFKED   H.  tJPHAM 
OXFORD,  OHIO 


0^ 


^ 


TO 

PRESIDENT    GUY    POTTER    BENTON 

UNDER  WHOSE   ABLE  ADMINISTRATION 

THE   Old    Miami    at    last    yields 

PLACE    CONTENTEDLY    TO    THE     NeVV. 


^ 


^^ 


PREFACE 


One  hundred  years  are  perhaps  only  a  good,  long  summer 
day,  in  the  eyes  of  the  ancient  universities  of  England,  or 
even  of  those  native  products  along  our  eastern  coast.  For  a 
college  west  of  the  Alleghenies  to  have  lived  so  long,  however, 
means  that  it  rose  amid  the  forests,  and  bore  a  part  in  every 
movement  for  the  development  of  the  great  midland  region 
of  America.  Such  is  the  experience  of  the  old  Miami  Uni- 
versity, at  this  time  celebrating  her  centennial  birthday. 

The  completion  of  her  centenary  has  recalled  to  many 
minds  the  deplorable  lack  of  a  permanant  and  connected  story 
of  her  life  experiences,  coupled  with  the  fact  that  archives 
are  vague  and  the  tellers  of  old  tales  are  fast  passing  away. 
Already  to  many  of  the  younger  generation  "Historic  Miami" 
is  only  an  empty  and  hackneyed  phrase.  The  justification  of 
these  few  chapters  lies  in  the  attempt  to  meet  this  condition. 
The  result  is  far  from  complete  or  even  adequate ;  but  will  at 
least  aflFord  a  convenient  handbook  of  the  favorite  traditions 
and  reminiscences. 

It  is  impossible  to  acknowledge  in  detail  all  the  author's 
obligations.  Some  are  to  manuscript  records,  particularly 
those  of  faculty  and  trustees.  Others  are  to  publications, 
old  and  new,  chiefly  those  of  the  University  itself  and  of  the 
various  Greek  fraternities.  Most  delightful  in  retrospect  are 
the  personal  conversations  with  certain  reminiscent  individ- 
uals, among  them  Doctor  MacFarland,  Doctor  Galbraith,  and 
Doctor  Hepburn.  To  one  and  all  who  have  aided  in  this 
undertaking  the  writer  desires  to  register  a  debt  of  profound 
gratitude,  with  the  hope  that  they  may  find  some  recompense 
in  having  borne  a  part  in  preserving  to  posterity  the  rich  old 
legends  of  the  Yale  of  the  Early  West. 

A.  H.  U. 
Oxford,  Ohio,  June,  1909. 


CONTENTS 

Page 

I.  Pioneer  Days 13 

II.  Literary  Halls 53 

III.  Greek  Meets  Greek 95 

IV.  "Female  Institutions" 131 

V.  Historic  Pranks 171 

VI.  "War!!!" 207 

VII.  Reconstruction 253 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Travelers  on  the  lumbering  Oxford  stage 
had  ample  time  to  meditate  upon 
their  sins" Frontispiece. 

Page 

"The  richest  treasure  under  heaven,  is  a 

kind,  tender  female  friend"  ....        60 

"Vale  mi  frater" 93 

"Dum  vivimus  vivamus" 125 

"Braving  the  dread  night-air  that  mothers 

talk  about"      143 

"A  pitcher  of  sparlding  water  on  the  fine 

young  ladies  trailing  in  below"  ...     181 

"One  by  one  the  doors  and  corridors  were 

closed  with  great  white  haycocks"  .   .188 

"Then  it  was  only  a  pitiable  reality"  ....  222 


T^  URING  the  summer  and  fall  of  1824, 
-■-^  siicli  newspapers  as  were  then 
printed  in  the  Ohio  Valley  carried  a  form- 
al announcement  of  the  opening  of  the 
Miami  University.  The  notice  was  com- 
monplace enough.  Flanked  on  one  side 
by  the  description  of  somebody's  runa- 
way mulatto  slave;  on  the  other  by  Icha- 
bod  Sweeney's  glad  acclaim,  unchanging 
as  the  sun,  that  his  large  stock  of  holiday 
goods  was  now  open  for  inspection,  these 
modest  lines  of  wavering  type  in  single 
column  offered  little  to  attract  the  eye. 
*' Miami  University,"  they  read,  *'will  be 
opened  on  the  1st  day  of  November  next, 
1824.  Session  1st  November  to  1st  May. 
Tuition  $10.00.     Same  session  Grammar 


PIONEER       DAYS 


School  $5.00.  Study  hour,  5  to  7  a.  m., 
2  to  5  p.  m.  Recitation  7-8  and  9-12  a.  m. 
Prayers,  9  a.  m.  and  8  p.  m.  Boarding 
$1.00  to  $1.25  per  week."  Then  followed 
the  estimate  of  expenses  per  year: 

"Board   $50.00 

Tuition    20.00 

Washing    8.00 

Candles  and  wood 5.00 

Room  and  servant's  hire.     5.00 
Extra  5.00 

$93.00" 

In  those  pioneer  villages  and  on  the 
farms  newspapers  came  too  rarely  and 
cost  too  much  to  be  trifled  with;  and  the 
thrifty  householder  pulled  his  chair  close 
to  the  kitchen  table,  snuffed  the  tallow- 
dip,  and  spelled  out  every  word  of  every 
column — advertisements  and  all.  To 
many  such  readers  this  college  notice  ap- 
peared as  an  oasis  in  an  arid,  though  all 
too  familiar  plain.     Father  clasped  toil- 

14 


PIONEER       DAYS 


roughened  fingers  about  his  knee  and 
stared  straight  before  liim  through  a  vista 
of  splendid  possibilities  for  the  boys — 
his  boys — who  should  profit  by  the  oppor- 
tunities of  a  real  University  here  within 
easy  reach.  The  boys  themselves  eagerly 
scanned  each  irregular  issue  of  the  paper 
for  a  fresh  look  at  the  familiar  bit  of  ad- 
vertising, and  lingered  over  every  word 
of  its  inky  lines.  In  the  fields  or  by  the 
autumn  hearth  they  all  united  in  comput- 
ing resources  and  devising  economies,  to 
balance  these  against  that  forbidding 
total  of  $93.00.  Opportunity  knocked 
early,  you  say,  at  the  batten  doors  of 
these  pioneer  cabins.  Indeed  she  did; 
but  to  those  who  followed  the  Miami  Uni- 
versity from  its  institution,  progress  had 
seemed  slow  enough. 

More  than  a  generation  earlier,  one 
John  Cleves  Symmes  had  made  one  of 
those  bold  and  indefinable  purchases  of 

15 


PIONEER       DAYS 


government  land  so  popular  in  the  old 
days.  It  started  from  the  Ohio  River  and 
ran  north  between  the  Little  and  the 
Great  Miami — probably  to  that  mystic 
polar  circle  which  John's  illustrious 
nephew,  John  Cleves  the  second,  imag- 
ined as  the  portal  to  his  densely  popu- 
lated world  within  the  world.  John 
Cleves  the  elder  was  rather  partial  to 
the  surface  of  the  earth;  but  obligated 
himself,  at  government  request,  to  re- 
serve one  township  in  his  purchase  for 
the  maintenance  of  an  '*  academy." 
*' Academy"  and  "university"  were  both 
beautifully  vague  words  in  those  days, 
you  know.  Then  the  lands  went  on  the 
market.  Dense  forest  undergrowth 
meant  long  months  of  labor  in  the  clear- 
ing; but  it  also  meant  fertile  bottomland 
thereafter;  and  there  was  little  trouble  in 
disposing  of  large  tracts  of  such  prospect. 


16 


PIONEER       DAYS 


Somehow  in  the  rush  of  business 
Symmes  forgot  about  the  township  he 
had  set  apart  for  an  offering  to  Athena. 
When  she  called  him  to  account,  there 
was  no  disputing  the  fact  that  large  and 
irregular  portions  of  her  sacred  confines 
had  been  already  legally  conveyed  to  John 
Doe  and  Richard  Roe  and  their  heirs  and 
assigns  forever,  and  that  said  John  and 
Richard,  with  such  of  said  heirs  as  could 
manage  axes,  were  busily  desecrating  the 
virgin  forests  of  the  goddess.  Symmes 
apologized  to  Governor  St.  Clair  and  of- 
fered to  substitute  another  township,  for 
which  there  had  been  no  apparent  de- 
mand. The  governor  refused  this,  and 
finally  Congress,  who  had  more  land  than 
anything  else  at  her  disposal,  granted  a 
petition  to  locate  the  college  township 
west  of  the  Great  Miami  and  entirely  out- 
side the  Symmes  Purchase.  The  College, 
however,  was  to  be  within  the  old  bound- 
aries. 

17 


PIONEER       DAYS 


In  February,  1809,  by  act  of  the  Gen- 
eral Assembly  of  Ohio,  the  Miami  Uni- 
versity was  formally  created,  christened, 
and  endowed  with  a  mass  of  fine  phrases 
and  a  pathless  patch  of  woodland  some- 
where up  along  the  Indiana  line.  A  group 
of  trustees  was  appointed,  whose  obvi- 
ous business  it  was  to  put  this  woodland 
on  the  market  and  get  it  to  paying  rev- 
enue. At  the  same  time  three  commis- 
sioners were  entrusted  with  the  responsi- 
bility of  finding  the  most  desirable  spot 
between  the  two  Miamis  for  such  a  prom- 
ising institution  to  occupy. 

Both  bodies  found  pretty  dense  under- 
brush ahead.  The  college  lands  were  at 
first  offered  at  such  terms  of  rental  that 
only  the  least  desirable  of  settlers  ap- 
proached them.  Only  two  of  the  locating 
commission  ever  got  together  at  all.  No- 
body seemed  to  know  what  happened  to 
the  third  one,  but  there  is  a  dastardly 

18 


PIONEER       DAYS 


rumor  afloat  that,  despite  his  cloth,  he 
fortified  so  strongly  with  ardent  spirits 
for  each  session  that  he  never  managed 
to  report  for  roll  call.  The  two  survivors 
were  handsomely  treated.  Public-spirited 
citizens  from  various  communities  solic- 
ited the  favor  of  their  presence,  and  filled 
them  to  the  brim  with  the  commercial  ad- 
vantages of  Cincinnati  and  Dayton,  the 
scenic  attractiveness  of  Lebanon,  and 
the  salubrious  waters  of  the  Yellow 
Springs.  They  balked  on  the  last  and 
gave  a  verdict  for  Lebanon.  Then  at  the 
next  legislative  session,  some  one — not 
from  Lebanon — contrived  a  plan  to  solve 
all  difficulties  together.  This  was  to  make 
the  college  lands  attractive  by  placing  the 
college  itself  in  their  midst.  Remember- 
ing the  delinquent  but  fortified  com- 
missioner, the  assembly  declared  the  first 
location  illegally  selected  and  established 
the  University  within  the  township  at  the 

19 


PIONEER       DAYS 


village  of  Oxford,  which  it  graciously 
created  for  the  purpose.  Spirituous  forti- 
fication has  been  unpopular  in  Lebanon 
ever  since. 

There  was  much  toil  to  intervene  be- 
tween this  simple  settlement  of  the  case 
and  the  newspaper  announcements  of  the 
opening  of  an  actual  university.  Grad- 
ually^, however,  the  stubborn  tract  of 
densely  wooded  territory  was  portioned 
out  and  brought  under  subjection.  Grad- 
ually the  new  village  began  to  awake  and 
stretch  itself  along  the  hill-top.  In  1812 
there  was  a  real  brick  house,  the  wonder 
of  the  community,  erected  by  Joel  Collins, 
the  statesman-surveyor  who  had  run  the 
lines  of  every  farm  in  the  township.  Per- 
haps in  pride,  perhaps  with  the  idea  of 
permanent  record,  Captain  Collins  im- 
bedded in  his  foundation  two  iron  spikes, 
distant  from  each  other  exactly  the  length 
of  his  surveyor's  chain.     This  has  pre- 

20 


PIONEER       DAYS 


vented  endless  wrangling  since,  for  the 
good  Captain's  measuring  unit  suffered 
from  a  few  missing  links.  Building  con- 
tinued at  a  fairly  rapid  rate  until  it  cul- 
minated in  a  spacious  market-house  on 
the  public  square,  and  the  cup  of  munici- 
pal jo}^  was  full. 

The  trustees  were  anxious  to  have  the 
University  in  operation  promptly.  To 
hurry  matters  on  they  arranged  to  send 
into  the  east  a  college  ''missionary,"  a 
Rev.  John  W.  Brown,  who  should  solicit 
contributions  to  an  endowment  fund,  and 
gather  up  donated  books  or  equipment, 
or  anything  in  fact  that  might  prove 
useful  to  a  respectable  young  university. 
After  two  years  of  polite  rebuffal  the 
agent  went  the  way  of  all  good  mission- 
aries; and  while  John  Brown's  body  lay 
a-mouldering  the  trustees  pitilessly  cast 
up  accounts  and  found  that,  deducting  ex- 
penses, there  was  nothing  left  but  a  heap 

21 


PIONEER       DAYS 


of  discarded  volumes  for  which  just  then 
they  had  neither  room  nor  use. 

Such  funds  as  accrued  from  the  lands 
went  to  the  erection  of  buildings.  They 
began  with  what  the  records  call  a 
*' school-house,"  when  they  had  only 
$150.00  to  put  into  it.  Then  came  a  struc- 
ture that  cost  over  $6,000.00,  together  with 
a  professor's  house;  and  a  grammar 
school  was  immediately  opened.  Finally, 
in  1820,  the  contract  was  let  for  the  cen- 
tral portion  of  the  old  Main  Building,  con- 
necting with  the  part  already  in  use,  and 
designed  even  then  "to  be  the  center  and 
principal  building  of  the  University." 
This  is  the  structure  referred  to  in  docu- 
ments of  the  time  as  ''a  superb  College 
edifice;"  "a  large  and  elegant  college 
building;"  "not  inferior  to  any  in  the 
state."  For  miles  around,  the  good 
Scotch-Irish  pioneer,  riding  in  to  do  his 
marketing,  might  catch  glimpses  of  this 

22 


PIONEER       DAYS 


pile  of  brick  and  mortar  crowning  the 
highest  point  in  all  the  countryside,  and 
might  rub  his  aching  joints  and  feel  the 
certainty  of  compensation  for  his  unend- 
ing labors. 

There  was  one  unpleasant  spectre, 
though,  always  interfering  with  those 
dreams  of  certain  compensation.  Other 
communities,  with  considerably  more  in- 
fluence on  the  legislature,  were  habitually 
finding  plausible  and  suspiciously  unself- 
ish reasons  for  removing  the  University 
from  poor  Ittle  Oxford.  Plots  and  coun- 
terplots were  devised  at  one  point  or  an- 
other, to  be  sprung  upon  a  legislature 
that  had  no  particular  interest  in  the 
squabble,  anyhow.  The  citizens  of  Ox- 
ford spent  most  of  their  spare  time  in 
mass  meetings,  working  stray  bits  of  elo- 
quence out  of  their  systems,  and  kindling 
fiery  denunciations  of  their  designing  ad- 
versaries.   One  pamphleteer  soared  even 

23 


PIONEER       DAYS 


to  the  lieigiits  of  prophecy,  and  gs.\e  ut- 
terance to  a  bit  of  Delphic  lore  well  worth 
preserving.  This  is  the  vintage  of  1814: 
''The  present  arrangement  which  has 
been  made  for  the  disposition  of  the  lands 
belonging  to  the  Miami  University  is  such 
that  when  the  lands  are  all  disposed  of  it 
must  afford  a  greater  income  to  the  Uni- 
versity than  any  other  seminary  of  learn- 
ing in  the  United  States  is  endowed  with, 
and  I  trust  the  time  is  fast  approaching, 
and  now  not  far  distant,  when  we  shall 
behold  a  splendid  college,  whose  statelj^ 
spires  tip  the  clouds  and  whose  surround- 
ing country  bespeaks  the  industry  and 
happiness  of  its  inhabitants,  where  only  a 
few  years  since  the  howling  of  the  beasts 
of  prey  and  the  war  whoop  of  the  Indian 
were  the  only  sounds  which  broke  upon 
the  ear  of  the  wandering  traveller.  On 
that  same  spot  shall  we  meet  with  the 
youth  assembled  from  the  various  quar- 

24 


PIONEER       DAYS 


ters  of  the  world,  to  learn  the  arts  and 
become  acquainted  with  rhetoric  and 
belles-lettres.  Astonishing  change!  But 
it  is  a  change  which  every  circumstance 
warrants  us  in  expecting ! "  Do  you  catch 
the  fine,  old  independence-day  flavor'? 

When  November,  1824,  arrived,  the 
infant  university  appeared  to  absorb  the 
breath  of  life  with  rather  slow,  uncertain 
gasps.  The  new  building  was  ready,  and 
those  hospitable  rooms  at  $5.00  a  year — 
including  servant  hire — were  swept  and 
garnished  till  they  shone.  Verily  the 
laborer  was  worthy  of  his  hire.  The 
faculty  was  assembled  as  one  man — or 
rather  as  two  men,  since  it  consisted  only 
of  the  newly-chosen  Scotch  Presbyterian 
president,  Robert  H.  Bishop,  and  a  tutor 
who  answ^ered  to  the  name  of  Sparrow. 
The  students  w^ere  not  so  prompt,  but  it 
was  probably  not  altogether  their  fault. 
Horseback  riding  along  blazed  trails  and 

25 


PIONEER       DAYS 


through  sloughs  of  despond  called  bridle 
paths  may  have  been  exhilarating  exer- 
cise, but  it  was  not  speedy.  Even  when 
this  was  pieced  out  with  a  bit  of  rapid 
transit  via  Canal  Boat  to  Hamilton,  to 
take  the  lumbering  Oxford  stage  from 
there,  travelers  had  ample  time,  and  fre- 
quent occasion,  to  meditate  upon  their 
sins.  By  December  twenty  students  had 
arrived.  All  through  the  winter  they 
kept  coming,  as  the  frozen  trails  became 
passable  or  they  saw  their  way  to  that 
$93.00,  until  the  first  college  year  had  an 
enrollment  of  nearly  a  hundred,  and  the 
Miami  University  became  a  reality. 

There  are  many  men  today  who  pro- 
test that  the  ideal  college  is  of  the  variety 
typified  by  Mark  Hopkins  at  one  end  of 
the  log.  By  such  standards  no  wonder 
that  the  old  Miami  ranked  so  high.  Logs 
there  were  a-plenty;  and  to  hold  down  the 
ends  of  them  there  came  from  year  to 

26 


PIONEER       DAYS 


year  a  group  of  intellectual  lieav_yweights, 
the  benediction  of  whose  influence  is  still 
present  in  countless  households  and  com- 
munities. 

At  the  head  of  the  list  stands  the  stal- 
wart, though  somewhat  rawboned  and  un- 
gainly figure  of  President  Bishop.  A  Scot 
of  the  Scots,  he  was  a  graduate  of  Edin- 
burgh and  a  warm  adherent  to  staunch 
old-school  Presbyterianism.  Twenty 
years  before,  he  had  felt  a  call  to  the 
Master's  service  in  America;  and  drifting 
to  Kentucky,  had  become  connected  with 
the  early  history  of  old  Transylvania 
University  there.  He  had  made  many 
friends,  and  these  were  instrumental  in 
bringing  him  across  the  river  to  pioneer 
duty  at  Miami.  Over  his  high  cheek- 
bones twinkled  a  pair  of  friendly  eyes, 
which  spoke  to  every  boy  who  penetrated 
the  outer  circle  of  administrative  chill, 
and  told  of  sympathy  and  miderstanding 

27 


PIONEER       DAYS 


and  a  Carlylesque  longing  to  clasp  the 
whole  world  to  his  bosom  and  soothe  its 
grief. 

Like  Carlyle,  too,  the  good  doctor, 
when  aroused,  was  a  "michty  fichter," 
and  there  were  some  turbulent  times  in 
those  seventeen  glorious  years  of  pioneer 
experience.  Those  country  lads  had 
sturdy  spirits  and  fierce  passions,  as  we 
shall  see,  and  the  echoes  of  Revolutionary 
days  were  still  dinning  in  their  ears  the 
martial  strains  of  liberty.  As  they  came 
to  know  the  great  throbbing  heart  of  this 
first  president,  their  own  hearts  went  out 
to  him  in  filial  devotion.  But  they  sorely 
tried  his  soul,  and  the  occasional  outburst 
of  his  awful  anger  came  usually  too  late 
to  serve  the  cause  of  discipline.  The  very 
lads  whose  unchecked  pranks  spelled  dis- 
aster to  his  administration  were  readiest 
to  defend  and  uphold  him  in  time  of  need. 
No  one  can  compute  the  measure  of  his 

2S 


PIONEER       DAYS 


influence  in  those  long  years  of  service; 
the  constructive  policies  he  instituted, 
the  economies  he  practiced,  the  standards 
he  established,  the  characters  he  made. 
Yet  his  was  a  Pisgah-sight  of  the  land  of 
promise,  and  the  mantle  of  authority  was 
stripped  from  shoulders  not  yet  stooped 
with  age. 

Associated  with  him  was  a  man  whose 
name  has  long  been  lisped  familiarly  in 
every  home  and  schoolroom  in  the  coun- 
try:— Professor  William  H.  McGuffey, 
author  of  those  dear  old  dog-eared  Eclectic 
Readers  that  opened  to  us  the  gates  of 
literature.  He  came  to  Miami  a  mere  lad, 
lifted  from  the  middle  of  his  senior  year 
at  Washington  College,  Pennsylvania.  In 
his  decade  at  Miami  he  became  a  devoted 
and  effective  preacher  of  God's  word,  laid 
the  foundations  of  his  mature  scholarship 
in  philosophy  and  metaphysics,  and  drew 
from  his  path-breaking   experiments  in 

29 


PIONEER       DAYS 


child-psychology  the  system  and  material 
for  his  school-books.  He  was  more  severe 
in  discipline  than  Doctor  Bishop  and  ap- 
peared much  less  approachable.  Still  he 
had  many  warm  friends  among  students 
and  villagers,  and  these  seem  to  have 
known  the  real  man. 

Two  passions  at  this  time  consumed 
his  young  life — the  preaching  of  the  Gos- 
pel and  the  education  of  the  child-mind; 
neither  of  them,  by  the  way,  peculiar  to 
cold,  unapproachable  men.  Such  was  his 
zeal  for  the  spoken  word  that  he  en- 
couraged students  to  meet  with  him  every 
morning  before  breakfast  that  he  might 
drill  them  in  public  oratory.  Stranger 
still,  tradition  sa3^s  that  they  always  came. 
His  own  delivery  was  quiet  and  almost 
conversational,  but  powerful  in  its  effect. 
Large  crowds  attended  when  he  preached 
in  chapel,  and  between  times  he  minis- 
tered in  the  log  churches  of  neighboring 

30 


PIONEER       DAYS 


villages.  All  the  country  around  knew  at 
sight  his  stove-pipe  hat  and  solemn  suit 
of  shiny  black  bombazine,  for  which 
broadcloth  was  substituted  on  very 
formal  occasions.  At  one  time  the  Darr- 
town  congregation,  for  which  he  was  sup- 
plying, impressed  by  the  glossy  sheen  of 
his  garments,  remonstrated  with  him  for 
his  Godless  extravagance,  only  to  be  con- 
vinced that  the  lustrous  raiment  cost  less 
than  their  own  Sunda3^-best  and  outwore 
it,  two  to  one. 

Naturally  enough,  other  places  than 
Oxford  have  claimed  the  honor  of  pro- 
ducing the  McGuffey  readers.  But  every 
student  in  those  old  days  knew  of  the  ex- 
periments going  on  in  town:  how  the 
young  professor  had  taken  into  his  house 
a  class  of  village  children,  and  directed 
personally  every  step  of  their  training  up 
from  a,  b,  c;  how  he  was  keeping  notes  of 
all  their  blunders  and  tangles,  and  retail- 
si 


PIONEER       DAYS 


oring  lessons  to  fit  their  growing  minds; 
how  some  day  he  would  give  the  world 
the  fruits  of  his  experience.  Some  stu- 
dents were  even  permitted  to  help  him  in 
the  work,  to  revise  the  notes  or  copy 
manuscript.  True  the  readers  were  pub- 
lished after  he  went  to  Cincinnati,  but 
books  are  not  made  when  men  set  the 
types  or  feed  the  presses. 

Another  famous  teacher  of  pioneer 
days  was  John  W.  Scott,  kind,  genial  and 
considerate,  long  connected  with  Oxford 
institutions,  and  destined  to  end  his  use- 
ful career  in  the  executive  mansion.  He 
and  Doctor  Bishop  held  many  views  in 
common,  particularly  in  matters  of  dis- 
cipline; and  when  his  chief  left  the  insti- 
tution he  had  established,  Doctor  Scott  ac- 
companied him  to  College  Hill  and  joined 
him  in  Carey's  premature  project  of  a 
Farmer's  College.  Subsequently  the 
Scotts    returned    to    Oxford,    with    Ben 

32 


PIONEER       DAYS 


Harrison  in  their  train,  and  gathered 
about  them  a  circle  of  demure  but  be- 
witching maidens  whose  avowed  purpose 
was  to  acquire  sufficient  of  the  arts  and 
sciences  and  social  graces  to  fit  them  for 
woman's  noble  sphere.  Their  immediate 
purpose,  as  it  often  seemed  to  the  worthy 
doctor,  was  to  ensnare  the  hearts  of  vari- 
ous callow  swains  who  ranged  about  the 
University.  But  that  is  another  chapter. 
It  is  hard  to  picture  those  college  men 
of  almost  a  century  ago.  We  read  of 
them  as  statesmen,  soldiers,  professional 
men.  Surely  they  were  more  interesting 
as  boys  in  the  paths  and  corridors  of 
Miami.  We  know  they  rose  for  a  study 
period  at  5  a.  m.  and  went  to  prayers 
twice  a  day.  We  know  that  the  passing 
of  the  hours  was  marked  by  the  notes  of 
a  bugle,  and  that  Doctor  Bishop  to  the 
end  of  his  days  thought  a  bell  sinful  ex- 
travagance.   We  know  that  such  as  could 

33 


PIONEER       DAYS 


afford  the  luxury  boarded  royally  at  a 
dollar  a  week;  the  others  kept  bachelor's 
hall  for  half  the  sum.  No  wonder,  at  the 
market  prices  then  prevailing.  Beef  and 
pork  cost  from  a  cent  and  a  half  to  two 
cents  a  pound,  corn-meal  and  potatoes 
were  often  as  low  as  one  bit  a  bushel,  and 
other  things  were  in  proportion.  That 
boy  was  a  poor  stick  who  couldn't  man- 
age corn-cakes  or  even  buckwheats  on  a 
griddle,  and  bake  potatoes  in  the  ashes  of 
an  open  fire. 

There  were  plenty  of  signs  of  man- 
hood and  consecrated  purpose  among  the 
boys.  Before  the  college  was  a  month  old, 
they  drew  up  a  complete  system  of  self- 
government  to  regulate  life  in  the  college 
building,  and  elected  a  regent  from 
among  their  own  number.  Almost  at 
once  came  rival  literary  societies,  with 
charters  from  the  state,  halls  dedicated 
to  them  by  the  faculty  in  perpetuum,  a 

34 


PIONEER       DAYS 


printing  press,  and  a  newspaper  for  which 
their  independence  permitted  the  faculty 
to  assume  the  arrears.  Many  of  the  stu- 
dents were  preparing  for  the  ministry, 
and  were  not  long  in  forming  a  mission- 
ary organization,  the  Society  of  Religious 
Inquiry.  This,  like  the  literary  societies, 
accumulated  a  library  and  had  itself  pub- 
licly addressed  by  imported  talent  at 
least  once  a  year.  In  1840,  at  the  tender 
age  of  seven,  it  failed  honorably  in  at- 
tempting to  establish  a  mission  school 
among  the  Miami  Indians.  A  deep  spirit 
of  religion  pervaded  the  College,  and 
young  fellows  welcomed  weighty  prob- 
lems and  thought  deep  thoughts. 

You  have  guessed  it.  This  is  not  the 
only  side  to  the  picture.  Young  saints 
in  college  are  prone  to  wear  their  halos  a 
bit  askew  sometimes.  The  steam  of  youth 
must  escape  in  occasional  bubbles.  The 
path  of  prescribed  virtue  was  exceeding 

35 


PIONEER       DAYS 


narrow,  and  even  the  elect  might  skid 
upon  a  curve.  Faculty  records  bear  pain- 
ful evidence  to  the  truth  of  this  philos- 
ophy; and  man}^  an  errant  lad,  there  pil- 
loried to  the  end  of  time,  repented,  lived 
to  ripe  and  honored  usefulness,  and  went 
to  his  reward  despite  this  blot  upon  his 
'scutcheon.  The  records  for  June  and 
July,  1825,  display  a  gruesome  list  of 
those  "found  in  bed  after  the  rising 
hour."  No  such  list  appears  again,  per- 
haps because  there  were  no  more  delin- 
quents. This  one  becomes  significant 
when  you  remember  that  the  rising  hour 
was  somewhere  before  five;  and  more  so 
when  you  study  the  names  presented. 
There  is  such  a  sameness  about  them;  and 
the  chief  offender,  whose  name  appears 
for  nearly  every  date,  meets  an  end  that 
sounds  like  a  Sunday-school  tale.  He 
comes  before  the  faculty  again  and  again 
on  graver  charges — indolence,  intoxica- 

36 


PIONEER       DAYS 


tion,  cards,  throwing  water  on  ladies  en- 
tering chapel — and  is  finally  dismissed  by 
the  faculty.  "Haec  fabula  docet"  that 
little  boys  should  always  rise  when  the 
bell  rings. 

Besides  the  secrets  of  the  record-book, 
old-fashioned  college  discipline  did  not 
scruple  at  public  statement  of  a  young- 
ster's weaknesses.  Such  statements  crept 
into  catalogues,  state  reports,  and  espe- 
cially into  the  latter  end  of  those  semi- 
annual honor-rolls  headed  by  the  word 
DIGNISSIMI  in  big  black  type.  Once  at 
least  the  faculty  was  severely  criticised 
by  an  examining  committee  of  the  legis- 
lature for  such  unseemly  exposures,  but 
Calvinistic  conscience  had  its  way.  Col- 
lege punishments  were  always  announced 
in  chapel  and  supposed  to  gain  in  chasten- 
ing power  thereby.  Even  the  beginner, 
not  yet  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  the  in- 
stitution and  needing  only  a  private  ses- 

37 


PIONEER       DAYS 


sioii  on  tlie  green  carpet,  was  condemned 
to  be  ''publickly,  solemnly  and  affection- 
ately admonished." 

At  times  matters  took  a  more  serious 
turn.  More  daring  students  took  advan- 
tage of  Doctor  Bishop's  good  heart,  and 
brawls  and  disturbances  became  frequent. 
The  ''farming-out"  system  was  tried,  and 
various  scholarly  manses  in  obscure  and 
harmless  parishes  became  depositories 
for  refractory  youths,  who  cultivated 
scholarship  in  a  becoming  garb  of  sack- 
cloth and  ashes.  The  worst  influence  to 
combat  in  Oxford  was  that  of  the  so-called 
"groceries;" — in  reality  low  grog-shops, 
where  students '  fists  came  often  into  play, 
and  dirks  and  even  pistols  were  familiar 
arguments.  Bad  spirits  in  the  groceries, 
rash  spirits  in  the  student  body;  no  won- 
der there  were  so  many  fisticuffs  and  spe- 
cial sessions  of  the  faculty. 


38 


PIONEER       DAYS 


Materially  the  college  was  prospering 
throughout  these  years.  Its  influence  was 
widening,  its  scholarship  was  deepening. 
In  1836  Professor  Scott,  then  teaching 
astronomy,  set  up  on  the  campus  a 
dressed  stone  accurately  placed  to  serve 
as  the  foundation  for  a  telescope — the  sec- 
ond or  third  of  its  kind  in  America.  Lit- 
erary societies  were  flourishing,  Greek 
fraternities  were  beginning  to  appear;  but 
hostilit}"  had  arisen  against  President 
Bishop,  murmurs  were  heard  from  vari- 
ous sources  about  his  lack  of  discipline, 
and  he  resigned  his  executive  authority 
for  a  professor's  chair. 

In  his  stead  came  George  Junkin,  of 
the  Church  Militant,  famous  for  his  strict 
administration  of  Lafayette  College,  and 
fresh  from  the  Usts  of  Presbyterianism, 
where  his  lance  had  never  wavered  in  the 
cause  of  Old-School  doctrines.  The  keen 
black  eye  that  had  looked  innovating  up- 

39 


PIONEER       DAYS 


starts  straight  in  the  face  was  now  to 
pierce  holes  in  recreant  Oxford  sopho- 
mores; the  thin,  shrill  voice  which  had 
often  kept  going  for  hours  at  a  stretch  in 
theological  debate  was  to  pronounce  those 
public  admonitions  to  trembling  culprits. 
Hostility  got  there  first,  however,  and 
met  him  at  the  threshold.  Doctor  Bishop 
was  still  on  the  ground,  and  though  he 
took  no  part  in  faculty  counsels  was  to  his 
friends  a  constant  reminder  of  past  differ- 
ences. Doctor  Junkin^s  position  in  the 
lime-light  of  Presbyterian  controversy 
turned  the  eyes  of  other  denominations 
upon  the  intimate  connection  of  his 
church  with  University  affairs.  The  relig- 
ious press  throughout  the  country  ranged 
its  guns  on  little  old  Miami,  and  be- 
fore the  fusilade  was  over  the  public 
was  believing  that  the  students  parsed 
from  the  Geneva  Confession  and  turned 
the  Shorter  Catechism  into  Latin  hexa- 
meters. 

40 


PIONEER       DAYS 


The  new  president  was  faithful  to  his 
trust  in  exercising  stricter  discipline. 
There  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  the 
time  was  ripe  for  it.  Some  laws  of  the 
University,  published  in  1842,  bear  elo- 
quent testimony  to  a  condition  of  affairs 
not  altogether  peaches  and  cream. 

"No  student  shall  wear  about  his  per- 
son pistol,  dirk,  stiletto,  or  other  danger- 
ous weapon. 

'^  Playing  at  cards,  dice,  or  any  game 
of  chance  is  strictly  prohibited;  also  the 
possession  of  cards,  backgammon  boards, 
or  any  implements  used  in  games  of 
chance. 

"Any  student  who  shall  send  or  ac- 
cept a  challenge,  or  be  second  in  a  duel, 
or  in  anywise  aid  and  abet  it,  shall  be  im- 
mediately expelled  from  college. 

"No  student  shall,  during  term  time, 
attend  any  ball,  dancing-school,  theatri- 
cal exhibition,  horse  race  or  any  place  of 
similar  resort." 

41 


PIONEER       DAYS 


Perhaps  the  considerable  tinge  of  blue 
about  some  of  these  statutes  may  have  in- 
creased the  difficulty  of  enforcing  all  of 
them.  At  any  rate  there  is  one  law  in 
the  same  code  that  should  have  gone  far 
to  leaven  the  whole  lump.  It  is  hard  to 
see  why  all  colleges  since  that  day  have 
not  adopted  this  perfect  system  of  pre- 
serving students'  characters: 

"Every  applicant  for  admission  shall 
furnish  written  evidence  to  the  Faculty 
that  he  sustains  a  good  moral  character, 
which  shall  be  kept  on  file  by  the  Presi- 
dent." 

Two  other  acts  of  Doctor  Junkin  ap- 
pear to  have  rounded  out  the  plot  of  his 
alleged  comedy  of  errors.  For  twenty-five 
years  there  had  been  a  portion  of  the  Uni- 
versity grounds,  between  the  buildings 
and  the  village  residences,  unused  for 
college  purposes  and  thrown  open  as  a 
common  where  the  horses,  cows  and  geese 

42 


PIONEER       DAYS 


of  the  citizens  might  roam  at  will  and 
forage.  The  doctor  enclosed  this  public 
pasture-lot  against  all  trespassers,  and 
immediately  there  was  wailing  and  teeth- 
gnashing.  The  town-and-gown  question 
before  had  never  reached  beyond  the  level 
of  street  brawls  and  tavern  mix-ups. 
Now  it  rankled  in  the  heart  of  respected 
tax-paying  burgesses  whose  precious 
rights,  privileges  and  live-stock  were  as- 
sailed. The  executive  offense  was  unfor- 
givable. 

At  this  time  the  extreme  abolitionists 
were  lifting  up  their  voices  throughout 
the  land.  A  part}^  of  them  in  the  Presby- 
terian church  demanded  the  immediate 
exclusion  of  all  slave-holding  members. 
Junkin  demurred.  He  was  a  staunch 
union  man,  and  personally  opposed  to 
slavery,  but  believed  that  emancipation 
should  come  by  slow  and  gradual  process, 
based  on  a  scheme  of  deportation.    In  a 

43 


PIONEER       DAYS 


session  of  Presbytery  lie  expressed  him- 
self succinctly  in  a  few  well-chosen  words 
requiring  some  ten  hours  in  their  deliv- 
ery, and  at  once  a  new  enemy  camped  at 
his  gates.  A  man  who  took  ten  blessed 
hours  to  prove  that  slave-holding  South- 
erners would  find  their  names  recorded 
in  the  Book  of  Life  was  no  fit  custodian 
of  their  children 's  characters,  said  the  ab- 
olitionists. The  allied  opposition  was  too 
much  for  Doctor  Junkin  and  he  with- 
drew. 

The  later  years  of  George  Junkin  read 
like  a  novel,  as  the  school-girls  say,  and 
fully  establish  his  sincerity  and  moral 
courage  in  national  questions.  About 
1850  he  became  president  of  Washington 
College  in  Virginia.  In  the  same  town 
was  a  military  school,  with  several  gal- 
lant instructors  fresh  from  West  Point. 
One  of  these,  Stonewall  Jackson  by  name, 
wooed  and  won  a  daughter  of  the  Junkin 

44 


PIONEER       DAYS 


household,  but  the  fair  young  bride  was 
soon  stricken  in  death.  Virginia  was 
debatable  ground  as  murmurs  of  seces- 
sion traveled  through  the  southland  and 
the  war-cloud  gathered.  Student  hearts 
in  the  Virginia  college  beat  loudly  for 
the  south.  There  was  love  for  the  presi- 
dent as  a  man,  but  for  his  northern  blood 
and  northern  kindred  he  was  suspected 
and  maligned.  All  his  teachings  were  of 
peace  and  reconciliation,  and  fell  more 
and  more  on  hostile  ears.  Sumter  was 
attacked;  and  as  if  by  magic  a  palmetto 
flag  floated  over  the  college  building. 
With  his  own  hand  Doctor  Junkin  low- 
ered it  and  applied  a  match.  Another  of 
the  same  kind  took  its  place.  The  presi- 
dent appealed  to  his  faculty  for  support, 
and  to  a  man  they  were  silent.  At  once 
he  wrote  a  resignation  and  with  his  fam- 
ily took  coach  for  the  state  line,  leaving 
his  soldier  son-in-law  to  consecrate  his 
braver}^  to  the  region  of  his  birth.  • 

43 


PIONEER       DAYS 


At  Miami  Doctor  Junkin  was  suc- 
ceeded by  an  ardent  abolitionist  and  a 
leader  also  among  Old-School  Presby- 
terians, Erasmus  D.  MacMaster.  As  he 
had  been  a  striking  figure  in  church  coun- 
sels, so  was  he  about  the  campus.  He  was 
of  unusual  height,  despite  a  marked  stoop 
to  the  shoulders.  A  great  mop  of  snow- 
white  hair  surmounted  a  splendid  brow 
and  a  face  always  smooth  as  a  woman's. 
He  was  a  profound  scholar,  unapproached 
in  his  denomination,  and  unequalled  per- 
haps in  all  the  impressive  faculty-roll  of 
Miami.  As  they  used  to  say,  he  was  a 
ver}^  painful  preacher,  and  his  ponderous 
antitheses  and  periods  searched  the  heart 
of  weighty  questions  as  they  rolled  de- 
liberately from  his  tongue.  He  had  re- 
markable success  later  teaching  in  a 
theological  seminary;  but  he  could  never 
understand  or  reach  the  heart  of  a  tow- 
headed  undergraduate.     That  particular 

46 


PIONEER       DAYS 


phase  of  original  sin  was  too  much  for 
him. 

Not  the  least  of  Doctor  MacMaster's 
troubles  was  his  tendency  to  take  prompt 
and  decided  stands  on  mooted  questions, 
and  then  express  himself  freely.  The 
Mexican  war  came  rather  early  in  his 
administration.  He  didn't  believe  in  it, 
and  said  so  plainly  in  a  chapel  sermon. 
The  local  recruiting  officer  was  in  the  con- 
gregation, exuding  patriotism  at  every 
pore.  Naturally  the  sermon  gave  him  a 
chill,  and  he  retaliated  with  martial 
methods.  With  a  band  of  fellow-patriots 
he  pulled  a  cannon  down  by  the  Doctor's 
home  that  night,  and  fired  it  there,  shat- 
tering all  the  glass  in  the  windows  and 
rudel}^  disturbing  the  Doctor's  musings 
on  predestination.  Indignant  friends  of 
the  president  afterwards  secured  the 
cannon,  dragged  it  down  in  the  campus, 
burned  the  running-gear  and  threw  the 
barrel  into  a  cess-pool. 

47 


PIONEER       DAYS 


Unfortunately,  there  were  days  to 
follow  w4ien  yon  could  hardly  have  mus- 
tered enough  friends  of  the  president, 
indignant  or  otherwise,  to  drag  a  medium- 
sized  popgun.  Through  no  particular 
error  of  his  he  lost  control  of  the  student 
body.  Riotous  conduct  continued,  and 
was  seldom  handled  with  tact.  Bojdsh 
pranks  abounded.  One  3"ear,  for  instance, 
a  grammar-school  pupil  was  solemnly 
convicted  as  "accessory  to  theft,  in  steal- 
ing the  chapel  key"  and  giving  "no  evi- 
dence of  sorrow  or  shame  for  the  same." 
Somewhat  later  another  was  dismissed 
for  sending  a  written  challenge  to  single 
combat.  The  spirit  of  rebellion  was  in 
the  air,  and  erring  students  found  plenty 
of  sympathizers  to  urge  them  to  open 
defiance. 

A  scries  of  epidemics  visited  the  col- 
lege in  President  MacMaster's  time. 
Small-pox   came  in  the  winter  of  1846, 

48 


PIONEER       DAYS 


and  the  cholera  stalked  about  during 
several  anxious  summers.  In  small-pox 
time  nearly  fifty  students  signed  a  paper 
declaring  that  they  would  attend  no 
more  recitations  during  the  scourge.  The 
authorities  regarded  this  as  ''an  inten- 
tion to  effect  a  suspension  of  the  College, 
against  the  known  views  of  the  Faculty;" 
and  not  only  required  continued  attend- 
ance, but  insisted  that  the  signers  ''ex- 
plicitly and  fulh^  acknowledge  the  wrong 
of  such  intention  and  their  regret  for  par- 
ticipation in  these  proceedings."  There 
were  hostile  mutterings  among  the  some- 
what panicky  students.  "Aw,  old  Mac's 
had  the  small-pox  himself,  and  don't  care 
what  happens  to  us,"  they  said.  The 
rumor  gained  credence,  as  such  rumors 
will,  and  did  much  to  estrange  him  still 
farther  from  the  boys.  Only  a  few  of  the 
brave  ones,  the  volunteer  nurses  in  those 
seasons   of  pestilence,   knew  how   often 

49 


PIONEER       DAYS 


that  tall  form  glided,  into  the  sickrooms 
and  took  its  turn  of  vigil  beside  tumbled 
beds,  or  how  keenly  the  great  heart  that 
couldn't  understand  yearned  over  the 
3^outhful  sufferers  there. 

A  long  line  of  difficulty  with  the  Liter- 
ary Societies  culminated  in  this  admin- 
istration :  the  halls,  true  to  their  inherent 
independence,  insisting  on  the  right  to 
select  their  own  imported  orators,  without 
facult}^  interference;  the  faculty,  and  the 
president  in  particular,  always  ruling 
otherwise.  As  last  came  open  rebellion, 
on  the  occasion  of  the  great  snow  prank 
in  January,  1848,  with  its  long  investiga- 
tion and  series  of  dismissals.  It  was  all  at 
first  the  exuberant  tomfoolery  of  youth. 
But  in  the  end  work  was  ruined,  the  stu- 
dent body  scattered,  the  institution  crip- 
pled. The  splendid  spirit  of  Doctor  Mac- 
Master  was  broken  for  the  time  and  he 
retired  from  the  University.     With  the 

50 


PIONEER       DAYS 


brilliant,  popular  and  prosperous  admin- 
istration of  President  Anderson,  Miami 
entered  upon  her  second  quarter-century 
of  active  life,  secure,  efficient,  optimistic. 
Pioneering  days  were  done  forever. 


51 


NOWADAYS  we  parade  in  our  cur- 
ricula various  stilted  but  imposing 
courses  in  public  speaking  and  debate. 
Under  pressure  of  a  sweat-box  ordeal  in 
the  class-room,  students  painfully  con- 
struct briefs  and  plan  forensics,  grum- 
bling at  every  step  and  sub-consciously 
meditating  on  the  recent  junior  prom. 
We  argue  the  power  of  the  spoken  word 
and  prate  much  of  human  personality; 
while  the  student  body,  going  out  to 
sway  the  world,  is  calmly  balancing  the 
probable  incomes  of  a  mining  engineer 
and  a  w^ell-to-do   curb  broker.     In   the 

53 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

good  old  times  at  Miami,  public  oratory 
was  just  a  matter  of  course; — not  an  un- 
derlined requirement  in  the  catalogue. 
Boys  declaimed  and  orated  and  struggled 
in  debate  because  they  wanted  to  and 
couldn't  help  it.  They  put  their  hearts 
into  it  as  well  as  a  stingy  bit  of  gray  mat- 
ter, and  gave  to  it  much  of  the  energy 
that  now  goes  into  intercollegiate  sports. 
Probably  there  was  more  demand  for 
public  oratory  then — of  a  sort;  but  the 
fact  of  real  significance  is  that  oratory 
was  then  the  fashion,  taking  the  place  of 
turned-up  trousers  and  brindle  bull  dogs. 
In  the  second  year  of  the  University 
two  literary  societies  were  established — 
hated  rivals,  of  course.  There  is  no  evi- 
dence that  they  were  suggested  or  pro- 
moted by  the  faculty,  and  goodness 
knows  they  asked  no  coddling  while  they 
grew.  They  took  out  charters  from  the 
state  at  once,  if  you  please,  and  thereby 

54 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

hangs  a  tale  or  two.  Having  state  chart- 
ers, they  were  afterwards  in  a  strategic 
position  to  request  the  faculty  to  go  hang; 
which,  as  we  shall  see,  they  occasionally 
did  with  much  politeness.  One  of  them 
assumed  a  Greek  name,  then  a  rather 
essential  mark  of  caste,  and  both  of 
them  began  with  a  really  terrifying  ob- 
ligation of  secrecy.  Just  what  they  were 
keeping  secret  doesn't  matter.  It  seldom 
does:  the  point  is  to  have  a  secret.  The 
Erodelphian  Hall  dates  from  November 
9,  and  the  Union  Hall  from  December  14, 
1825. 

The  minutes  of  both  societies  indicate 
that  they  got  down  to  business  promptly 
and  attend  to  it  seriously.  They  adopted 
modest  official  badges  of  ribbon  measuring 
some  two  and  a  half  inches  in  diam- 
eter. They  secured  permanent  quarters 
from  the  University  and  fitted  these  up 
from  time  to  time  with  their  own  funds. 

55 


THE    LITERARY     HALLS 

To  tliis  day  if  one  of  tlieir  rooms  is 
utilized  for  recitation  purposes,  the  insti- 
tution must  pay  rent  for  it  to  the  society. 
They  began  at  once  the  accumulation  of 
their  own  libraries,  which  were  to  expand 
chiefly  by  voluntary  donations.  The 
questions  they  began  debating  present 
an  interesting  array  to  modern  eyes, 
though  many  of  them  suggest  that  we 
have  met  them  some  place  before.  The 
Erodelphians,  for  instance,  first  discussed 
the  problem:  ''Is  the  reading  of  novels 
and  romances  productive  of  moral  and 
intellectual  improvement?"  The  second 
week  produced  the  question,  dear  per- 
haps to  Father  Adam:  "Which  is  pro- 
ductive of  greater  happiness,  pursuit  or 
possession*?" 

Sometimes  men  tell  us  today  that 
journalism  has  stolen  the  thunder  from 
the  literary  forum.  In  the  20 's  these  two 
seem  to  have  lain  down  together,  the  lion 

56 


THE    LITERARY     HALLS 

and  the  lamb  of  Holy  Writ.  Those  pro- 
gressive 3^oungsters  in  Miami  Halls,  with 
organizations  less  than  two  years  old,  be- 
gan the  publication  of  a  monthly  period- 
ical, ''The  Literarj^  Focus."  They  soon 
had  trouble  with  delayed  printing,  of 
course.  Those  were  very  primitive  days. 
Then  they  boldly  took  the  matter  in  their 
own  hands,  scaled  the  Alps,  crossed  the 
Rubicon,  or  whatever  other  figure  seems 
appropriate,  and  went  into  the  printing 
business  for  themselves.  Yes,  sir,  those 
striplings  from  the  woods,  some  of  whom 
had  never  even  seen  such  a  contrivance, 
found  the  money  somewhere  to  purchase 
a  good  old-fashioned  man-power  printing- 
press  and  outfit,  got  it  somehow  through 
the  mud  and  over  the  corduroy  bridges 
from  Cincinnati,  and  set  to  work  learning 
the  trade.  All  for  the  sake  of  publishing, 
with  no  earthly  chance  of  profit,  a  literary 
monthty ! 

57 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

Publish  it  they  did,  and  it  was  a  cred- 
itable product.  Complete  files  are  acces- 
sible today,  and  the  ink  is  evenly  dis- 
tributed, the  impression  clear,  the  lines 
true, — all  testifying  to  the  artistic  pride 
of  the  craftsmen  in  that  barn-like  room 
in  the  old  main  building.  The  literary 
side  had  character,  too.  As  a  rule  the 
articles  are  rather  imposing  in  subject 
and  treatment,  with  that  vealy  tendency 
to  abstract  moralizing  and  broad  gen- 
eralization that  we  characterize  some- 
times as  sophomoric.  The  style  suggests 
too  often  the  stilted  effort  of  a  performer 
who  is  conscious  of  an  audience  and  is 
taking  himself  very,  very  seriously.  But 
why  not?  Their  thoughts  and  their  dis- 
cussions turned  to  serious  things,  yet  they 
made  public  their  opinions  with  a  modest 
restraint. 

Even  the  poetry  partakes  of  this  pain- 
ful self-consciousness.     Only  on  rare  oc- 

58 


'■TllK.    I!I(  HIST   TlilASl  RK    INDKH    IIKA\KN 
Is    A     KIM),    TKNDKI!     IIMAII'.    IKIKM)." 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

casions  has  some  contributor  closed  his 
eyes  upon  the  staring  crowds  of  earth  and 
sailed  right  up  into  the  empyrean — hark, 
hark,  the  lark! — as  does  the  love-lorn 
*'Alphonso"  in  his  sparkling  effusion  to 

"A  FEMALE  FRIEND." 

"The    dearest   boon    by   nature    given, 
The   sweetest  joy   that    earth    can    send, 
The   richest   treasure   under    heaven, 
Is  a  kind,  tender  female  friend. 

"Science  is  but  a  glimmering  ray, 
That  only  casts   a   fitful   gleam; 
And  wealth's  the  creature   of  a  day; 
Honor  and  glory's  all   a   dream. 

"Man   is   unkind  and   full   of   strife; 
His  fortune  such  as  fate  may  send — 
His  sweetest  solace  of  life, 
A   true    and  faithful   female   friend. 

"Gentlest  refiner  of  the  mind, 
Infusing  virtue's   mildest   balm, 
To  heal  our   grief  of  every  kind 
Leaving  the    soul    serene   and    calm. 

"Sweet  assuager  of  my  woe. 
Dividing  cares  thou  canst  not   mend; 
Be   this   my  lot   where'er    I   go — 
That   I   may   find   a    female   friend." 

Dearest  Alphonso,  here's  hoping  that 
thou  didst !  At  any  rate  the  success  of  the 

61 


THE    LITERARY    HALLS 

Focus  was  so  flattering  that  the  Halls, 
co-operating  with  the  faculty,  issued 
propositions  before  the  first  year  was 
over,  to  focus  the  Focus  upon  The  Lit- 
erary Register,  which  should  be  a  weekly 
journal  of  news  as  well  as  literary  fea- 
tures. Then  the  flattering  fell  off.  Ox- 
ford and  surrounding  country  were  not 
yearning  for  a  weekly  newspaper  of  high 
standard  so  ardently  as  the  students  had 
imagined.  At  least  subscriptions  did  not 
indicate  any  particular  loss  of  sleep,  ex- 
cept for  the  publishers.  The  faculty, 
however,  impressed  with  the  advantage 
of  such  a  periodical  for  the  communit}^, 
volunteered  to  finance  the  proposition  for 
a  year.  There  is  no  apparent  evidence 
that  the  societies,  chartered  by  the  state, 
quartered  in  their  own  halls,  and  regu- 
lated by  their  own  laws,  suggested  that 
the  faculty  go  hang  on  this  rather  delicate 
occasion. 

62 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 


The  Register  is  really  fascinating.  It 
is  like  coming  upon  some  bit  of  yellow 
lace  or  a  tarnislied  slioe-buckle  up  in 
grandmother  ^s  garret  on  a  rainy  after- 
noon. The  Miami  Canal  is  spoken  of 
as  likely  soon  to  revolutionize  rapid- 
transit  across  the  country.  Some  man 
has  invented  a  machine,  about  half  the 
size  of  a  grand  piano,  that  prints  letters 
by  striking  on  its  keys!  Even  the  adver- 
tisements attract  attention.  Witness  this 
quaint  specimen: 

ONE  CENT  REWARD. 

Ran  away  from  the  subscriber  living  in  Oxford, 
Butler  county,  on  the  19th  inst..  Alpha  Leach,  an 
Apprentice  to  the  Carpenter  and  Joining  business. 
He  is  22  years  of  age,  thick  built,  not  very  polite  and 
of  a  bad  disposition.  This  is  to  forewarn  all  persons 
from  harboring,  or  employing  him  under  the  penalty 
of  the  law.  The  above  reward  will  be  given  for  his 
delivery  to  me,  but  no  charges  paid. 
Oxford,  June  20,  1829.  CHARLES  BARROWS. 

From  literature  the  societies  turned 
their  minds  to  art.  At  the  present  time, 
the  principal  adornment  of  each  hall, 
aside    from    the    delirious    color-scheme 

63 


THE    LITERARY     HALLS 

some  local  decorator  has  inflicted  on  the 
walls,  is  a  tutelary  divinit}^  perched  in  a 
niche  above  the  rostrum.  In  Miami 
Union  this  is  a  very  mangy  and  weather- 
beaten  owl,  whose  glass  eyes  wear  a  look 
of  everlasting  anguish  and  whose  head 
droops  limply  with  the  suggestion  of 
lurid  midnight  orgies  and  a  cold  gray 
dawn.  Across  the  corridor  the  Erodel- 
phians  point  proudly  to  a  plaster  bust, 
the  face  with  its  strongly  moulded  fea- 
tures petrified  into  an  expression  of  right- 
eous horror  at  the  collarless  indelicacy 
of  the  classic  drapings.  Nobody  has 
arisen  from  the  mists  of  antiquity  to  re- 
late the  tragic  history  of  the  bird  of 
Athena.  Perhaps  he  flew  blundering  in 
at  an  open  window  some  day  in  the  long 
ago  and  died  there.  Poor  thing,  he  looks 
it.  But  the  bust,  for  all  its  fly-specks,  and 
modestly  scratched  initials,  and  the  green 
paint  the  decorators  dropped,  is  a  thing 

64 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

of  beauty  and  a  joy  forever,  and  opens  up 
a  delightful  chapter  of  the  remote  past. 
Back  in  1829,  the  members  of  the 
Union  Hall,  having  accumulated  some 
extra  money  since  they  turned  the  jour- 
nalistic sack  over  to  the  faculty,  con- 
spired to  spring  upon  their  forensic  en- 
emies what  a  learned  Senior  insisted  on 
calling  a  ''coop  de  tat."  Harding,  then 
the  leading  artist  of  the  great  west,  was 
engaged  quietly  to  make  a  full-length 
portrait  in  oils  of  President  Bishop,  who, 
protesting  against  such  worldly  fripper- 
ies, was  somehow  cajoled  into  the  neces- 
sary posings.  The  picture  was  an  entire 
success,  and  great  was  the  glee  in  Union 
Hall  when  it  was  publicly  unveiled  and 
the  scowling  Erodelphians  invited  in  to 
see  what  a  really  progressive  society 
might  accomplish.  ' '  R-r-revenge ! ' '  hissed 
the  Eros  between  their  clenched  teeth, 
just  as  the  villain  does  in  the  play  when 

65 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

the  hero  flashes  the  tell-tale  papers  be- 
fore his  eyes.  This  is  the  story  of  that 
Great  Revenge.  Browning  might  have 
called  it  "The  Portrait  and  the  Bust." 

For  the  next  six  months  about  the 
only  business  attempted  behind  double- 
locked  Erodelphian  portals  was  a  series 
of  discussions  looking  toward  an  evening- 
up  of  scores.  Gradually  out  of  the  chaos 
of  despair  one  plan  began  to  take  form. 
It  was  a  rank  apology  for  a  plan,  a  dis- 
gracefully tawdry  imitation,  but  appar- 
ently the  only  possible  thing  to  justify 
the  brethren  in  once  more  lifting  up  their 
eyes  to  heaven.  In  its  hopeless  outlines 
it  was  merely  this.  The  same  Harding 
was  to  be  emploj^ed  by  the  Eros  to  paint 
a  similar  portrait  of  the  same  subject,  and 
this  was  to  hang  in  the  same  way  in  the 
same  place  as  in  the  sanctum  of  the 
''Union  Lits."  Charley  Martin,  the 
floor-leader,  confessed  to  a  touch  of  same- 

66 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

ness  in  the  measure,  but  gamely  defied 
the  opposition  to  present  a  plan  that 
augured  better. 

The  youngsters  especially  were  dis- 
satisfied. They  never  agreed  with  Mar- 
tin's stuck-up  older  crowd  just  on  general 
principles,  and  now  they  were  leading  a 
regular  dog's  life,  having  their  hats 
jammed  over  their  ears  by  Union  seniors 
and  being  asked  where  the  Erodelphians 
got  their  original  idea  about  a  picture. 
Calling  their  tormentors  a  ''Hyena  gang" 
didn't  help  much  either,  but  it  relieved 
the  feelings  immensely,  especially  if  a 
well-directed  mud-ball  went  along  with  it. 
So  controversy  waxed  warm  in  Erodel- 
phian  circles,  always  with  the  same  con- 
clusion. The  logic,  as  Martin  put  it,  was 
so  infernally  simple.  ''We  must  have 
some  counter-attraction  in  a  work  of  art, 
as  an  appeal  to  new  members.  What  else 
can  we  obtain  but  a  portrait?     Whose 

67 


THE    LITERARY     HALLS 

portrait  but  Doctor  Bishop 's  does  any  one 
desire?  Who  else  in  all  the  west  can 
paint  it  but  Harding?"  The  answer  cer- 
tainly appeared  to  be,  "The  quicker  the 
sooner." 

One  night  little  Charley  Anderson,  all 
unconscious  that  he  would  some  day  be 
governor  of  Ohio,  was  knitting  his  young 
brow  over  an  awkward  sentence  in  Livy. 
His  name  was  bawled  out  from  below  in 
the  friendliest  tones,  and  he  slammed  up 
his  window  and  poked  out  his  head.  It 
might  be  an  invitation  to  a  feast.  A 
shower  of  gravel  stung  and  rattled  about 
his  ears  and  a  pair  of  Union  lungs  sang 
out,  "Who's  goin'  to  paint  the  Ero  pic- 
ture, baby?"  While  Charley  sputtered 
and  spat,  the  triumphant  gentleman  be- 
low passed  on,  singing  gaily  "Lies  and 
Love  and  Sausages,"  and  sought  the  vil- 
lage to  trade  the  first  for  the  last. 


68 


THE    LITERARY    HALLS 

"Lies  and  Love  and  Sausages!"  The 
strains  lingered  in  Charley 's  memory  and 
sang  themselves  to  his  tortured  soul. 
Then  association  of  ideas  got  to  work. 
Where  had  he  heard  that  song  before  *?  Oh, 
yes,  that  bully  old  mimic  and  comedian. 
Alec  Drake,  sang  it  and  sang  it  scrump- 
tiousl}^  in  the  theatre  the  last  time  Charley 
stopped  off  in  Cincinnati.  Dear  old  Alec 
Drake!  That  was  a  wonderful  image  of 
him  in  that  wax-works  shov/  at  Main  and 
Market  streets.  They  must  have  caught 
him  in  the  midst  of  that  same  song,  jolly 
old  rogue.  Who  would  think  that  wax 
figures  could  be  made  so  like  the  life"? 
Why,  I'd  rather  make  images  as  good  as 
those  wax-works  than  paint  all  the  old 
flat  daubs  that  ever  hung  in  literary  halls. 
It's  better  art;  it's  real  sculpture!  ''Lies 
and  Love  and  Sausages!"  0-o-oh,  what 
a  huge  idea!  It  actually  hurt  for  a  min- 
ute, but  there's  something  to  it.    Why  not 

69 


THE    LITERARY     HALLS 

get  a  statue  of  Doctor  Bishop  for  Erodel- 
pliian  Hall  and  lord  it  over  the  Hyenas 
forever?  But  a  statue  must  cost  barrels 
of  mone}^  Well,  why  not  a  piece  of  a 
statue,  then;  one  of  those  head-and-shoul- 
ders  things  on  a  pedestal?  Let  me  see — 
oh,  yes,  a  bust,  that's  it;  Erodelphian, 
forever,  with  a  bust ! 

There  was  only  troubled  sleep  for  the 
youngster  that  night,  and  little  of  that. 
Society  was  to  meet  the  night  after  and 
the  final  vote  was  to  be  taken.  Argu- 
ments and  rejoinders,  wild  fragments  of 
oratory  raced  through  his  brain,  and  the 
fever  burned  his  temples.  No  wonder  he 
was  only  a  pale,  shivering  wisp  of  a  thing 
as  he  sat  through  the  complacent  remarks 
of  Martin  on  Friday  evening,  heard  a 
high-browed  junior  call  for  "Question," 
and  struggled  to  his  feet,  stammering, 
"Mr.  P-p-president!"  How  he  said  the 
rest  of  it  he  never  knew.    But  when  he 

70 


THE    LITERARY     HALLS 

sank  into  his  chair  again,  the  all-gone 
feeling  had  vanished  from  his  middle  and 
the  Martinites  knew  what  their  young 
and  persecuted  brothers  thought  about 
cheap  imitations.  Moreover  they  were 
smiling  at  this  impossible  suggestion  of 
a  bust. 

Now  there  was  one  very  weak  spot  in 
young  Anderson's  armor;  and  Martin, 
experienced  debater  that  he  was,  found 
it  at  once. 

"The  young  gentlemen  has  suggested 
that  we  procure  a  bust  of  Doctor  Bishop 
for  our  hall.  An  excellent  idea;  very  ex- 
cellent, and  in  splendid  taste.  But  whom 
can  he  have  in  mind  to  mould  the  classic 
features  of  the  Doctor?  As  he  is  well 
aware,  as  all  the  gentlemen  are  well 
aware,  America  has  but  one  sculptor 
capable  of  such  a  trust — the  great  Green- 
ough,  of  Boston,  and  he  is  unfortunately 
at  this  time  in  Italy." 

71 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

Probably  not  one  in  ten  of  tlie  gentle- 
men in  question  had  ever  heard  of  Green- 
ough,  or  knew  if  his  habitat  was  Boston 
or  Bohemia;  but  when  Charles  Martin 
appealed  thus  to  their  superior  knowl- 
edge, not  one  of  them  would  fail.  But  the 
future  Governor  was  on  his  mettle. 
Jumping  to  his  feet  he  assured  them  in 
shrill  tones  that  they  need  not  go  to  Italy 
or  even  Massachusetts  for  their  modeler 
of  clay.  No  farther  away  than  Cincinnati 
there  was — there  must  be — an  artist 
equal  to  the  task.  Some  of  them  had  seen 
his  work  and  knew  what  perfect  like- 
nesses he  produced.  True,  the  medium 
was  slightly  different,  but  that  didn't 
matter. 

"Will  the  gentleman,  then,"  Martin 
interposed  with  a  tinge  of  irony,  "kindly 
inform  the  society  who  this  local  sculp- 
tor may  be,  and  where  his  mastei'pieces 
are  found." 

72 


THE    LITERARY     HALLS 

Anderson  flushed.  It  did  seem  foolish 
now  at  the  finish.  But  he  went  doggedly 
on.  "I  don't  know  his  name,  but  he's  the 
man  who  made  the  wax-works  at  D'Or- 
feuille's  Museum,  and  I — "  The  rest  was 
lost  in  a  shout  of  laughter,  and  it  was 
mighty  hard  for  a  certain  tow-headed 
freshman  to  hold  back  a  few  big  hot 
tears.  When  quiet  was  restored  the  vote 
was  taken  and  the  original  motion  carried 
by  a  large  majorit}^ 

Then  the  prospective  politician  and  a 
few  faithful  cronies  began  to  do  what 
should  have  come  at  first.  They  attended 
to  their  fences.  Governor  Anderson  has 
since  confessed  that  his  methods  on  this 
occasion  were  decidedly  shady,  and  de- 
clared that  he  used  such  tactics  only  this 
once  in  his  career.  An  opposition  party 
was  rallied,  not  from  those  who  merely 
wanted  a  bust,  but  rather  from  the  large 
miscellaneous  element  who  for  one  rea- 

73 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

son  or  another  wanted  to  *'bust"  Martin. 
All  the  youngsters  were  ready.  Martin, 
they  said,  was  a  conceited  puppy  who 
tried  to  patronize  people.  Some  of  the 
older  brethren  joined  in  because  they 
had  old  accounts  to  settle,  and  a  few  came 
along  just  to  see  the  fun.  Such  an  at- 
tendance had  never  been  seen  before. 
Promptly  at  the  call  for  business  a  re- 
consideration was  voted  and  almost  with- 
out debate  Erodelphian  Hall  decided  to 
adorn  itself  with  a  plaster  bust  of  Doctor 
Bishop,  the  same  to  be  modeled  if  possi- 
ble by  the  unknown  Cincinnati  wizard 
who  made  waxworks  for  D 'Orf euille 's 
Museum.  A  committee  with  Anderson 
at  the  head  was  commissioned  to  contract 
for  the  job. 

In  a  few  days  the  three  advanced  upon 
Cincimiati,  where  they  had  not  a  friend 
or  acquaintance  to  help  them  out.  An- 
derson as  guide  and  spokesman  led  his 

74 


THE    LITERARY     HALLS 

party  direct  to  the  museum,  where  duty 
was  forgotten  in  a  half  hour's  joyous  con- 
templation of  the  world  in  wax.  Then 
they  went  at  their  task.  The  first  guard 
accosted  was  a  wax  one,  and  they  col- 
lapsed in  giggling  confusion.  They 
waited  till  they  caught  one  walking,  and 
were  directed  to  a  dingy  little  office  at 
one  side,  where  a  small  French  person 
beamed  upon  them  and  shrugged  friendly 
shoulders. 

"Ze  man  zat  mek  ze  wax-woork"? 
Non,  Non!  Zat  ees  mon  grand  secret; 
mon!  He  ees  un  miracle,  un  prodige,  un 
— vat  you  call  gen-i-us!  I  cannot  geef 
him  up !  Ze  Musee  uptown,  zey  send  you 
here"?    Hein?" 

With  some  confusion  on  their  part 
and  many  shrugs  and  grimaces  on  his, 
the  boys  explained  the  real  nature  of 
their  errand. 

"Oui,  oui,  certainement !    Ze  bosse,  ze 

75 


THE     LITERARY    HALLS 

statuette.  Zis  man  lie  mek  you  ze  won- 
daireful  bosse.  Parbleu!  Who  else 
should  mek  you  ze  bosse  ?  You  find  heem 
where  ees  ze  cornair  of  Feefth  Street 
wiz  ze  Mam  Street.  Voila!  Hees  name 
eet  ees  Pow-airs,  Hiram  Pow-airs.  Un 
jeune  fils,  un  gen-i-us!  Oui,  oui!" 

With  swelling  hearts  the  trio  hurried 
up  the  street  to  the  workshop  studio  of 
their  gen-i-us.  In  his  muddy  apron 
Powers  himself  met  them  at  the  door. 
This  raw  Vermont  lad,  clock-maker's  ap- 
prentice and  moulder  of  waxen  images, 
was  at  that  moment  entering  upon  the 
career  of  achievement  which  Avas  to  bless 
the  world  with  his  masterpieces.  The 
creator  of  the  Greek  Slave  was  making 
his  first  attempt  in  clay.  He  was  all  the 
boys  had  hoped  of  him,  modest,  genial 
and  capable.  Tie  was  willing  to  under- 
take the  commission  and  would  insure 
them  satisfaction.    The  clay  model  would 

76 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

cost  them  one  hundred  dollars;  it  could 
be  moulded  in  plaster  for  five  more.  The 
contract  was  closed  in  a  jiffy,  arrange- 
ments were  made  for  the  artist  to  study 
his  subject,  and  the  committee  strutted 
toward  the  canal-boat — the  most  self- 
satisfied  group  of  infants  the  sun  shone 
upon.  Thus  Hiram  Powers  entered  upon 
his  first  remunerative  piece  of  sculpture, 
preserved  in  that  time-stained  plaster 
cast  in  Erodelphian  Hall. 

Along  toward  1840  the  literary  situa- 
tion began  to  be  complicated  somewhat 
by  the  appearance  of  Greek  letter  frater- 
nities. Alpha  Delta  Phi  came  first,  an 
importation  from  the  east,  and  after  it 
was  well  established  sub  rosa,  began  a 
series  of  free  lessons  in  that  subtlest  of 
all  arts,  college  politics.  One  cold  winter 
morning  in  '39,  both  societies  awoke  to 
find  that  these  mysterious  Greeks,  bear- 
ing gifts  of  flattery  and  promise,  had  es- 

77 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

tablislied  themselves  in  all  the  really 
honorable  offices  about  the  halls,  and 
were  running  things  "for  the  good  of 
the  order. ' '  There  was  a  rallying  of  bar- 
baric hosts,  and  by  the  next  election  time 
the  Alphas  were  confronted  by  two  iron- 
clad ordinances — strangely  alike — deny- 
ing membership  to  every  Greek  frater- 
nity man.  They  quietly  gathered  their 
camp-followers  about  them,  retired  to 
their  own  back-yard,  and  founded  a  nice 
little  society  among  themselves  which 
they  christened  Miami  Hall.  They  man- 
aged somehow  to  get  faculty  recognition, 
and  three  societies  sawed  the  air  and 
talked  themselves  purple  in  the  face  till 
1843.  Then  the  hatchet  was  entombed, 
the  Union  and  the  Miami  societies  unit- 
ing in  the  Miami  Union  Hall.  Erodel- 
phian  and  Miami  Union  have  shared  the 
field  to  this  day,  except  during  the  rather 
brief  existence  of  the  Eccriteans. 

78 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

Something  has  been  said  of  unfriendly 
relations  between  literary  halls  and  fac- 
ulty. Very  real  these  appeared  through 
a  number  of  years,  and  were  by  no  means 
a  matter  of  jest.  They  were  a  favorite 
topic  of  conversation,  embittered  many  a 
student's  career,  and  blighted  the  admin- 
istrations of  two  able  and  consecrated 
presidents.  All  trouble  seems  to  have 
arisen  in  the  societies  themselves  through 
a  misconception,  or  too  literal  interpreta- 
tion of  their  independence.  They  insisted 
that  a  charter  from  the  state  rendered 
their  official  proceedings  as  societies  im- 
mune from  any  outside  interference, 
whether  b}^  faculty  or  trustees.  This  in-r 
sistence  w^as  largely  the  work  of  graduate 
members  of  the  societies,  who  had,  of 
course,,  no  responsibility  to  the  faculty, 
but  by  the  old  constitutions  might  sit  and 
vote  as  active  members  of  the  halls  when- 
ever they  chose  to  drop  in  and  exercise 

79 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

the  privilege.    They  usually  chose  about 
the  time  they  had  an  ax  to  grind. 

No  open  break  is  recorded  until  Doc- 
tor Junkin's  time.  Soon  after  his  arrival, 
one  Dodds,  a  refractory  and  entirely  un- 
qualified student  not  then  in  college, 
petitioned  for  the  privilege  of  graduation. 
The  faculty  promptly  sat  upon  him.  The 
matter  was  appealed  to  the  Board  of 
Trustees.  They  sat  upon  him  with  an 
equal  promptness.  The  Miami  Society, 
Avith  a  fine  show  of  innocence,  then  gave 
him  a  prominent  place  on  the  program 
for  their  commencement  exhibition,  an 
event  that  in  those  times  overshadowed 
the  graduating  exercises  themselves.  To 
be  sure  there  was  trouble.  Anj^body  but 
the  Miami  Hall  must  have  foreseen  that. 
The  faculty  in  a  long  and  formal  docu- 
ment protested  against  such  procedure. 
Even  then  the  tabooed  name  appeared  in 
the  printed  list  of  speakers,  and  at  the 

80 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

proper  time  two  bona  Me  seniors  es- 
corted Mr.  Dodds  to  the  platform,  only  to 
be  publicly  and  solemnly,  if  not  affection- 
ately, admonished  for  their  pains.  These 
two  also  would  have  been  denied  degrees, 
except  that  they  signed  complete  apol- 
ogies along  about  sunrise  on  Commence- 
ment morning. 

Two  things  in  these  apologies  catch 
the  eye.  One  is  an  early  phrasing  of 
chartered  independence:  they  ''did  not 
suppose  the  faculty  had  a  right  to  inter- 
fere" with  a  literary  society  exhibition. 
The  other  breathes  the  song  of  everlast- 
ing youth  in  its  rich  suggestion  of  a  melo- 
dramatic extravagance — which  just  failed 
to  connect.  It  quotes  rumors  of  a  plot 
among  the  seniors  of  the  Hall  to  tear  up 
their  diplomas  publicly  as  they  received 
them  on  the  platform,  or  at  least  to  cut 
out  one  certain  signature.  Luckily  for 
Doctor  Junkin,  he  was  spared  this  crush- 
ing humiliation. 

81 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

A  little  later  came  the  Jones  case. 
Jones  was  nsnally  in  disgrace  and  always 
on  probation,  bnt  blest  with  a  thick  skin. 
One  morning  he  asked  permission  to  read 
in  chapel  a  note  concerning  the  expulsion 
of  a  fellow-derelict  from  his  literary 
society.  Doctor  Junkin  refused  until  the 
facult}^  might  act.  Next  morning  Jones 
took  no  chances,  but  marched  boldly  to 
the  rostrum  and  sailed  in.  The  Doctor 
gently  but  firmly  towed  him  back  to  port. 
The  faculty  lost  no  more  time  in  taking 
up  the  question,  and  ruled  that  such 
literary  skeletons  should  remain  quietly 
in  society  closets,  and  not  walk  abroad 
disturbing  the  good  humor  of  the  com- 
munity. Informally  they  agreed  that 
Jones  was  a  thorn  in  the  flesh  and  an  un- 
desirable citizen. 

The  formal  ruling  was  announced  in 
chapel  next  morning  before  prayers.  The 
informal    one    became    manifest    imme- 

82 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

diately  after  the  Amen.  For  Jones  the 
irrepressible  was  once  more  on  the  plat- 
form, reading  away  at  the  same  old  soiled 
manuscript.  The  president  demanded 
silence.  Jones  read  the  louder.  The 
audience  became  much  affected.  Groans 
and  cat-calls,  cheers  and  hisses  drowned 
the  speaker's  words,  but  he  finished  the 
paper  and  stalked  off  the  rostrum  into  the 
great  world  of  business  waiting  to  receive 
him,  unheard  but  victorious.  But  all  this 
was  only  a  new  symptom  of  an  old  dis- 
ease. It  all  came  out  in  the  faculty  clinic 
that  preceded  the  lad's  expulsion.  Thus 
reads  the  diagnosis: 

''A  further  ground  of  action  in  finding 
this  sentence,  but  which  its  very  nature 
prohibits  being  published,  is  that  Mr. 
Jones  did  very  distinctly  and  repeatedly 
intimate  to  the  Faculty  that  he  would  be 
sustained  by  his  Society  in  all  that  he  had 
done ;  that  he  had  talked  with  all,  or  very 

83 


THE    LITERARY     HALLS 

nearly  all,  the  members  since  Monday 
morning,  and  he  knew  he  would  be  sus- 
tained:— thereby  obviously  intending  to 
intimidate  the  Faculty  with  the  fear  of  a 
general  combination  to  resist." 

With  the  coming  of  great-hearted 
Doctor  MacMaster,  with  his  scholar's 
want  of  tact,  societies  and  faculty  settled 
down  to  their  sweetest,  juiciest  bone  of 
contention.  Every  organization  in  those 
days  delighted  to  be  talked  to.  No  society 
had  blue-blood  or  recognition  with  the 
smart  set,  unless  it  had  itself  learnedly 
addressed,  at  least  once  a  year,  by  some 
degree-bespangled  wise  man  of  the  East, 
on  "The  Social  Significance  of  Oriental 
Mysticism"  or  "Unquestioning  Obedi- 
ence to  Properly  Constituted  Authority 
— the  Real  Safeguard  of  a  Republican 
Government."  It  was  always  a  moment- 
ous occasion.  The  village  belles  were  all 
there,  and  in  later  years  came  the  demure 

84 


THE     LITERARY    HALLS 

young  ladies  from  the  female  institutions. 
The  members  beamed  proudly  over  im- 
mense rosettes  the  size  of  liver-pads,  and 
tried  to  look  unconscious  of  their  pinch- 
ing boots  as  they  squeaked  loudly  up  and 
down  the  aisle.  The  president  of  the 
concern  outdid  himself  in  an  introduction 
magnifying  the  colossal  achievements  of 
the  speaker  of  the  evening — and  invari- 
ably forgot  the  distinguished  gentleman  *s 
name. 

Well,  each  of  the  halls  had  one  of  these 
dissipations  every  commencement  week 
and  another  during  the  year.  Their  in- 
tellectual natures  demanded  it.  The 
speakers  usually  were  men  of  real  ability 
and  fame,  though  occasionally  they  did 
strike  one  a  bit  unsound  in  his  theol- 
ogy. History  records  no  real  blunder  of 
judgment  anywhere  along  the  line.  But 
as  each  side  remarked — with  one  paw  on 
the  bone — that  didn't  matter;  it  was  a 

85 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

question  of  principle.  Clearly,  everybody 
who  had  ever  held  membership  in  the  hall, 
and  paid  his  fines  and  scraped  his  boots 
on  the  doormat,  might  come  in  when  he 
chose  and  cast  his  vote  in  electing  these 
speakers.  If  the  faculty  had  no  veto 
power,  any  old  body  might  some  time  be 
chosen  to  air  his  views,  orthodox  or  other- 
wise, on  ''Unquestioning  Obedience,  etc., 
etc."  "Certainly!"  remarked  the  soci- 
eties, in  firm  and  chilling  tones,  "and  be- 
cause of  our  herein-before-mentioned 
charters  from  the  state,  it  is  none  of  your 
cultured  business."  Then  they  all  took 
another  try  at  the  bone. 

Not  very  dignified,  is  it,  looked  at 
through  the  vista  of  three  score  and  ten 
merry  years?  But  out  of  such  petty 
bickerings,  men  tell  us,  often  evolves 
great  history.  In  this  case  there  were 
four  years  of  skirmishing.  The  trustees 
were  summoned  as  reserves  and  gave  an 

86 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

overwhelming  decision  against  the  soci- 
eties. That  ought  to  have  been  final: 
trustees  conducted  the  examinations  in 
those  days.  But  these  gentlemen  were 
requested  to  assume  a  position  of  inert 
suspension  right  beside  the  facult3^  In 
solid  and  offended  majesty  they  turned 
upon  their  teaching  staff.  "Why,  bless 
me,  professor,  mercy  on  me,"  they 
wheezed,  "you  must  chastize  these  impu- 
dent rascals,  you  must  indeed!  And 
soundly,  too,  very  soundly!"  And  the 
fight  went  cheerily  on. 

Apparently  nobody  thought,  at  the 
time,  of  the  possibility  of  having  these 
boasted  charters  revoked.  Nobody  thought, 
either,  of  cutting  former  students  out  of 
active  membership  in  the  halls.  Both 
parties  continued  giving  up  their  peace 
and  happiness  for  principle,  until  the 
division  had  entered  into  the  little  faculty 
itself,  and  the  prejudice  had  arisen  which 

87 


THE    LITERARY     HALLS 

colored  every  action  of  the  president,  and 
biased  students  ere  they  set  foot  in  Ox- 
ford. The  Snow  Rebellion  drifted  in, 
with  its  ugly  contentions,  and  the  severing 
of  friendly  associations.  Then  at  last, 
one  day  in  1849,  Ardivan  W.  Rodgers, 
charter  member  of  Phi  Delta  Theta  and 
secretary  of  Erodelphian  Hall,  quietly 
submitted  to  the  professors  the  society's 
appointment  for  anniversary  speaker  and 
politely  requested  their  approval.  They 
gasped  and  promptly  granted  the  re- 
quest, wishing  for  the  society  a  long-con- 
tinued career  of  prosperity.  The  raven 
croaked  and  the  gray  wolf  howled  as  the 
moon  rose  over  the  battle-field.  But  the 
fight  was  over. 

Pray  do  not  imagine  that  throughout 
their  whole  career  these  societies  have 
continued  daring  the  faculty  to  tread  on 
their  coat-tails.  The  little  period  of  con- 
tention is  almost  lost  to  view  amid  the 

88 


THE    LITERARY    HALLS 

years  and  years  of  cordial  co-operation 
and  zealous  effort.  Even  in  the  contro- 
versy, for  all  its  unpleasant  features, 
there  was  experience  and  growth.  The 
very  key  to  existence  in  the  literary  hall 
is  strife  and  rivalry,  the  mimic  warfare 
that  makes  ready  for  the  battle  of  life. 
Somebody  is  always  getting  angry,  only 
to  be  laughed  back  to  a  grudging  sense  of 
his  own  hot-headedness.  Those  old  meet- 
ing-rooms are  alive  with  reminiscences, 
all  too  many  for  a  tale  like  this,  of  the 
jovial  wit-combats  of  other  days.  One 
example  will  have  to  serve. 

Ben  Harrison,  the  nation's  Ben,  was 
an  everlasting  student  when  in  college; 
but  despite  his  seriousness  gave  the  im- 
pression of  extreme  youth.  One  night  he 
was  lined  up  with  some  young  colleagues 
in  defense  of  a  measure,  and  was  much  in- 
censed when  an  opponent  spoke  con- 
temptuously of  these  ' '  callow  youths  who 

89 


THE    LITERARY     HALLS 

would  know  more  when  they  were  older. ' ' 
Ben  bided  his  time.  Next  Friday  after- 
noon his  crowd  was  due  for  declamations. 
They  took  two  turns  at  their  meetings 
then,  you  know;  miscellaneous  speeches 
in  the  afternoon,  debate  by  candle-light. 
Harrison  was  called  on  first.  He  took  a 
position  squarely  in  front  of  his  former 
opponent,  stretched  to  his  full  five  feet 
six,  and  gave  with  much  feeling  Pitt's 
reply  to  Walpole — "The  atrocious  crime 
of  being  a  young  man  I  shall  attempt 
neither  to  palliate  nor  deny."  One  after 
another  the  youngsters  took  their  places, 
each  one  on  the  same  spot  and  with  the 
same  speech.  The  house  was  hysterical 
when  they  finished,  and  impromptus  were 
called  for.  At  once  a  little  shock-headed 
urchin,  smallest  and  youngest  in  the  hall, 
and  a  frat  brother  of  Ben's,  leaped  to  his 
feet  and  finished  the  audience  by  piping 
out  once  more  the  familiar  lines. 

90 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

Of  course  there  were  the  Greek  frater- 
nities claiming  the  closest  affiliations  of 
these  young  hearts.  But  the  comrade- 
ship of  the  literary  halls  was  a  very  real 
and  very  dear  one.  In  those  days  when 
snail-like  transportation  made  the  home 
folks  seem  a  long  way  off,  this  comrade- 
ship fought  hard  against  illness  and  dis- 
couragement. Sometimes  it  struggled 
with  death  itself.  Three  tokens  of  these 
combats  gleam  white  among  the  trees  in 
the  pretty  village  burying-ground.  The 
modest  slabs  reveal  the  names  of  three 
old-time  Erodelphians,  ministered  unto 
till  the  very  end  by  sympathizing  com- 
rades, although  home  and  kindred  were 
denied. 

J.  W.   Smith. 
John  Jameson. 
Joseph  Little. 

Above  each  name  stands  the  motto 
of   the   society   that   erected   the   stone, 

91 


THE     LITERARY     HALLS 

"Scientia,  Eloquentia,  Amicitia."  Be- 
low is  the  parting  benediction  of  man  to 
man, 

"Vale,  mi  f rater." 

Say  if  you  will  the  old-time  literary 
society  is  a  thing  of  the  past.  It  has  justi- 
fied itself  a  thousand-fold  in  pulpit  and  in 
forum.  They  served  an  apprenticeship 
better  than  they  knew,  those  fiery-hearted 
lads  of  olden  time.  And  we  who  profit 
by  their  national  achievement  and  revel 
in  their  rich  traditions,  would  gladly 
waft  our  message  back  to  each  of  them 
along  the  corridors  of  time : 

*'Vale,  mi  f rater." 


92 


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gy»gi*aMW!Brtlffllll!i.'  'hM'mvfMrxStMnVJs^Cj.'- .ft!^Ji.^7Ksy^--^:*^-nmi 


11^  M 


"c^Y 


THERE  is  a  tradition,  dating  back 
to  the  time  of  people  who  should 
have  known,  that  the  Indian  word  'Mi- 
ami" meant  mother.  Nowadays  people 
usually  forget  that  the  name  is  aboriginal 
at  all;  and  cultured  Easterners  give  it  a 
rich,  garlicky  Italian  twang,  as  they 
drawl  it  at  you  in  melodious  tones,  "Mee- 
aw-mee."  However,  the  old  tradition 
lingers  in  its  savage  beauty  and  takes  a 
real  significance  in  the  eyes  of  those 
much-abused  but  naively  self-sufficient 
college  organizations,  the  Greek-letter 
fraternities.  For  out  of  the  loins  of  little 
old  Miami,  in  the  years  "befo'  de  wah," 
arose  in  turn  three  of  the  largest,  most 

95 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

prosperous,  and  most  widely-extended  of 
these  secret  brotherhoods. 

Far  be  it  from  this  sketch  to  attempt 
discussion  of  the  impulses  or  ideals  which 
operate  to  produce  these  unions  of  choice 
spirits,  these  gatherings  of  the  elect,  or 
whatever  else  they  choose  to  call  them- 
selves. The  closed  circle  of  intimates  is  as 
old  as  time;  and  contemporary  with  it 
arose  a  tendency  to  inward  "peeve"  and 
consuming  jealousy  among  those  just  out- 
side the  circle.  If  twenty  picked  men  are 
gathered  from  a  possible  hundred,  the 
pathetic  part  is  not  played  by  the  hun- 
dredth man,  but  by  Number  21.  When  Og 
and  Glug,  among  the  pre-Adamite  cave- 
dwellers,  happened  upon  a  valley  where 
sweet  red  berries  grew,  invited  Wap  to 
share  their  secret,  and  gathered  daily  in 
their  close  retreat  to  mimcli  and  snooze 
and  barter  confidences ;  when  they  decked 
themselves  with  the  shiny  fruit,  leered  in 

96 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

the  faces  of  Tub  and  Blub — who  weren't 
asked — and  called  themselves  a  struag  of 
gutturals  meaning  in  their  lingo  "Order 
of  the  Sacred  Grotto  where  the  Red 
Berry  Grows:"  there  appeared,  in  germ, 
the  Greek  letter  fraternity  minus  the 
Greek. 

In  the  college  community  there  is  par- 
ticular need  for  these  limited  brother- 
hoods. A  fellow  can't  intimately  fellow- 
ship a  whole  school,  and  there  have  to  be 
the  chosen  few  whose  hearts  thump  in 
unison  with  his.  To  these  alone  he  goes 
with  the  hopeless  problem  in  algebra  or 
the  perfectly  bully  note  from  the  girl 
with  the  brown  eyes;  these  only  are  per- 
mitted to  loan  him  money  when  dad's 
allowance  is  all  spent,  or  to  share  the  lus- 
cious box  of  "eats"  that  mother  always 
sends  on  birthdays.  A  heartless  world 
may  scoff,  or  bone-headed  reporters  write 
scathing  sarcasm  of  the  "rah-rah  boys 

97 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

from  the  Eata  Bitea  Pie  crowd."  But 
somehow  there's  nowhere  else  in  college 
life  where  real  youth — red-blooded,  siz- 
zling, affectionate  youth — gets  expression 
so  adequately  as  in  the  comradeship  of 
fraternity  halls. 

To  be  sure  their  secrets  and  occult 
mysteries  savor  of  a  colossal  farce.  A 
Greek  motto  that  not  one  undergraduate 
in  twenty  would  recognize  if  he  met  it  in 
broad  daylight  out  on  College  Avenue;  a 
set  of  digital  contortions  suggesting  life- 
long agonies  with  rheumatic  joints  and 
called  a  grip;  a  ritual  pieced  together  out 
of  empty  but  resounding  phrases  and 
calculated  to  make  candidates  forget  the 
miseries  of  the  hot  sands  outside.  Be- 
yond these,  only  the  secrecy  that  belongs 
to  every  firm  or  corporation — the  priv- 
ilege of  attending  to  its  own  business. 
They  tell  us  too  that  these  Greeks  waste 
precious    time,     and     squander    papa's 

98 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

shekels,  and  cultivate  snobbishness,  and 
acquire  false  ideas  of  life;  some  of  which 
are  dire  charges  if  they  should  be  true. 
They  tell  us,  truthfully  enough,  that 
many  a  perfectly  good  fellow  never 
"makes  a  frat;"  and  yet  he  learns  his 
lessons  like  a  little  man  and  goes  out  into 
the  great  old  world,  perhaps  even  to  be- 
come vice-president  or  invent  a  new 
breakfast-food.  None  of  these  proposi- 
tions does  it  behoove  us  to  argue,  but  a 
few  fundamental  truths  of  life  keep  star- 
ing at  us  till  we  're  cross-eyed.  Most  men 
revel  in  a  secret,  even  a  trivial  secret, 
almost  as  much  as  a  woman  does.  The 
harshest  criticisms  of  fraternity  life  come 
from  those  who  know  next  to  nothing 
about  it.  We  have  quit  heaping  criticism 
on  the  church  every  time  a  class-leader 
makes  tracks  for  Canada.  The  fellow 
who  didn't  make  a  frat,  even  though  it 
was  composed  of  his  inferiors,  was  usually 

99 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

in  the  recipient  condition  of  our  old 
friend  Barkis.  Finally,  the  clan  spirit 
never  has  been  crowded  out  and  shows  no 
signs  of  disappearing.  Now  let  us  turn 
to  our  mutton. 

The  Greek  fraternity  made  its  ap- 
pearance at  Oxford  when  Miami  was  ten 
years  old.  In  the  fall  of  1835  Samuel 
Eels  came  into  Ohio  from  Hamilton  Col- 
lege and  settled  in  Cincinnati  to  practice 
law.  At  Hamilton  he  had  been  a  member 
of  Alpha  Delta  Phi,  instituted  there  three 
years  before.  As  he  fell  in  with  various 
Miami  graduates  and  students  about  the 
city,  it  occurred  to  Eels  that  here  was  a 
fine  chance  to  do  a  little  missionary  work 
and  extend  the  field  of  his  new  fraternity. 
The  process  was  delightfully  simple.  Se- 
lecting W.  S.  Groesbeck,  C.  L.  Tilford  and 
J.  B.  Temple  as  the  most  promising  ma- 
terial, he  called  himself  into  executive 
session,  voted  these  men  into  the  organ- 

100 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

ization  without  a  single  black-ball,  and, 
having  found  them  willing  to  assume  the 
trust,  promptly  initiated  them  at  his  of- 
fice in  Cincinnati.  Then  he  notified  the 
Hamilton  chapter  that  they  had  a  nice 
new  brother  out  here  in  the  Ohio  Valley, 
and  he  already  bore  a  marked  resem- 
blance to  the  family.  There  wasn  't  much 
red  tape  about  those  times. 

The  first  activities  of  the  baby  chapter 
were  entirely  in  the  dark.  It  was  getting 
its  eyes  open,  so  to  speak.  Nine  members 
were  enrolled  before  even  the  existence 
of  the  thing  was  revealed.  Then  the 
president  of  the  university,  who  had  a 
pious  horror  of  all  secret  societies,  was 
asked  one  day  to  read  an  announcement 
of  one  of  their  meetings.  Laboriously  he 
spelled  it  out,  '^the  Alpha  and  Delta  and 
Phi  Society,"  and  his  hostile  suspicions 
were  aroused  from  that  moment.  This 
feeling  apparently  was  one  of  the  few 

101 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

tilings  passed  on  to  Doctor  Junkin,  for  in 
the  last  year  of  his  brief  administration 
the  latter  issued  a  written  protest  to  the 
trustees  against  the  existence  of  the 
Alphas.  The  Board  investigated  these 
young  terrors,  but  failed  to  find  anything 
incriminating  or  unorthodox. 

In  the  meantime  Alpha  Delta  Phi  had 
instituted  her  school  of  applied  politics, 
giving  special  attention  to  night  sessions; 
and  had  made  the  two  literary  societies 
lie  down,  roll  over  and  jump  through 
paper  hoops  till  they  were  fast  losing  all 
their  self-respect.  Then  came  the  revolt, 
culminating  in  a  resolution  passed  in  both 
halls,  that  no  hated  follower  of  this 
Greek  crowd  should  ever  be  admitted  to 
membership.  One  result  of  this  was  the 
creation  of  the  Miami  Literary  Society. 
Another,  less  direct,  but  farther  reaching, 
was  the  founding  of  Beta  Theta  Pi. 


102 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

During  the  spring  of  '39,  when  this 
conflict  took  place,  one  of  the  hardest 
fighters  on  the  anti-fraternity  side  was 
an  aggressive  young  junior  with  the  good 
old  Covenanter  name,  John  Knox.  He 
was  a  natural  leader  and  did  much  in 
person  to  bring  about  the  ousting  of  the 
Alphas  from  the  halls.  The  things  he 
said  concerning  them,  and  the  masterful 
and  convincing  arguments  with  which  he 
disposed  of  all  fraternities  everywhere, 
legend  does  not  record.  Rather  lucky 
this  for  John's  reputation  for  consistency. 
For  even  as  he  fought,  and  in  the  leisure 
moments  when  the  smoke  of  battle 
cleared  away  and  men  had  time  for  girls 
and  books  and  meditations,  John  got  to 
thinking.  After  all,  those  pesky  Alphas 
were  a  pretty  good  sort.  Arrogant  and 
conceited — whew!  But  nearly  all  of 
them  had  good  minds  and  kept  strictly  to 
business,  and  they  certainly  did  have  an 

103 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

organization  there  that  was  some  pump- 
kins. Their  solidarity  and  team-work 
were  a  wonder,  and  they  had  the  nervy 
spirit  of  good  losers,  too.  After  all, 
where  was  the  harm  in  such  a  brother- 
hood? 

In  the  midst  of  these  meditations 
John  went  home  on  a  vacation  trip.  At 
the  psychological  moment  he  went  brows- 
ing about  dad's  book  shelves  one  day  and 
made  a  find.  It  was  a  rare  old  volume, 
shape  and  title  since  forgotten,  which  re- 
tailed a  little  fact  and  much  hair-raising 
fiction  about  the  chivalric  practices  of 
the  Middle  Ages.  Particularly  creepy 
were  the  accounts  of  the  Knights  Templar 
and  similar  secret  orders  of  the  period. 
The  knightly  vows  and  pledges  were  re- 
peated, and  strange  and  fascinating 
sketches  given  of  their  secret  history  and 
inside  workings.  As  Knox  read,  and 
thrilled  with  delicious  horror  at  the  read- 

104 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

ing,  the  notion  suddenly  struck  him  all 
in  a  heap:  "There  are  plenty  more  good 
men  in  Miami.  These  secret  orders  are 
worth  while,  and  fascinating,  too.  Why 
not  organize  a  Greek  fraternity  all  our 
own,  to  have  all  the  good  qualities  of 
those  conceited  Alphas  and  none  of  their 
undesirable  ones'?"  Alpha  Delta  Phi's 
lessons  in  practical  politics  were  coming 
home  to  roost.  Even  as  she  had  done  it 
unto  the  Union  and  the  Erodelphian, 
John  Knox  was  preparing  then  and  there 
to  set  up  a  competing  business  in  his  own 
back  yard. 

To  the  unprejudiced  observer  there  is 
one  feature  about  Knox's  plan,  novel 
enough  in  his  day,  that  gets  to  be  pain- 
fully familiar  as  time  goes  on.  The  new 
brotherhood  was  to  have  all  the  good 
qualities  of  Alpha  Delta  Phi  and  none  of 
its  bad  ones.  In  the  same  way,  nine  years 
after.  Phi  Delta  Theta  was  to  have  all 

105 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

the  virtues  of  the  Alphas  and  Betas  to- 
gether, and  of  course  none  of  their  obvi- 
ous defects.  Likewise  D.  K.  E.,  breaking 
away  from  the  Phi  Delts,  was  to  have 
all  the  excellence  of  the  parent  chapter, 
etc.,  etc.  Four  years  later,  Sigma  Chi, 
sprung  from  the  Dekes,  was  again  to  par- 
take only  of  the  good  and  leave  the  bad 
to  soothe  the  bereaved  survivors.  The 
logic  of  this  process  seems  complimentary 
enough  to  Sigmi  Chi,  but  appears  to  put 
the  Alphas  in  a  rather  unpleasant  light. 
Then,  too,  one  wonders  where  that  con- 
stant remainder  of  bad  keeps  coming 
from. 

When  Knox  returned  to  college  he 
immediately  got  hold  of  his  closest  friend, 
Sam  Marshall,  and  poured  the  entire 
plan  into  his  rather  willing  ears.  Mar- 
shall had  been  interested  in  the  recent 
exposure  of  the  ritualistic  work  of  some 
popular  secret  order,  and  was  all  agog 
106 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

over  grips  and  pass-words  and  hailing- 
signals  of  distress.  He  was  already  mut- 
tering secret  mottoes  in  his  sleep  and 
scribbling  cabalistic  signs  all  over  his 
text-books.  He  entered  into  the  whole 
scheme  with  much  enthusiasm, — so  much 
indeed  that  to  the  day  of  his  death  neither 
man  could  say  positively  which  composed 
the  first  draft  of  the  constitution. 

About  all  they  knew  about  Greek 
fraternities  was  that  there  had  to  be  a 
name — some  two  or  three  Greek  letters 
— which  should  be  the  initials  of  the 
Greek  words  in  the  secret  motto.  It 
seems  a  little  back-handed,  but  they  con- 
fess to  selecting  the  name  first,  choosing 
such  letters  as  sounded  well  together,  and 
then  leafing  through  the  lexicon  till  they 
evolved  a  motto  that  would  fit  the  letters. 
The  name  selected  was  Beta  Theta  Pi. 
Then  came  the  badge — in  those  days  an- 
other element  of  secrecy.    They  seem  to 

107 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

have  had  some  knowledge  of  that  worn 
by  their  rivals,  for  the  form  adopted  was 
little  more  than  a  variation  on  the  old 
breastplate  of  righteousness  then  weight- 
ing down  the  vests  of  the  Alphas,  but 
carefully  hidden  underneath  their  coats. 
The  constitution  took  the  most  time. 
Apparently  the  two  boys  worked  together 
on  this;  for  both,  you  remember,  had  dis- 
tinct recollections  of  making  out  the  first 
version  of  it.  It  was  really  a  simple  but 
dignified  document,  built  on  such  whole- 
some ideas  as  improvement  in  knowledge 
and  scholarship,  mutual  support  and  as- 
sistance, and  absolute  faith  and  confi- 
dence among  the  brethren. 

Naturally  enough,  a  few  traces  of 
Knox's  medieval  fairy  stories  crept  in. 
Much  was  made,  for  instance,  of  the  per- 
fect number  nine  and  its  factors,  even  to 
the  placing  of  three  stars  on  the  badge. 
Membership  in  a  chapter  was  to  be  not 

108 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

less  than  three  nor  more  than  nine. 
Wearing  of  the  badge  was  solemnly  pro- 
hibited while  in  college.  Most  gruesome 
of  all  in  its  suggestion  of  occult  and  un- 
holy practices  was  the  obligation  seri- 
ously imposed  on  each  initiate  in  relation 
to  his  fellows,  that  ''their  friends  should 
be  his  friends  and  their  enemies  his 
enemies."  We  are  not  surprised  to  learn 
that  some  of  these  rules  were  modified  as 
time  went  on. 

Once  the  constitution  was  completed, 
it  was  easy  enough  to  get  material  for  the 
goat.  There  were  plenty  of  good  men, 
and  Knox  and  Marshall  chose  carefully 
from  these  the  few  congenial  spirits  they 
required.  Soon  Beta  Theta  Pi  was  able  to 
extend  its  skirmish  lines  quietly  through- 
out the  institution,  as  the  Alphas  had 
done  at  first,  and  to  gather  unto  itself 
a  fat  and  comfortable  share  of  col- 
lege honors  and  distinctions.    Their  men 

109 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

were  vigorous  and  alert,  entering  freely 
into  every  student  activity.  Gradually 
the  harsh  rule  of  the  literary  halls  against 
the  Greeks  was  undermined,  and  in  1843 
the  Alphas  came  like  prodigals  back  into 
the  fold.  Thus  the  societies  had  no 
trouble  in  presenting  a  united  front  on 
the  growing  question  of  faculty  super- 
vision. 

It's  a  hard  matter,  these  days,  to  ap- 
preciate the  difficulties  in  the  path  of 
"Pater"  Knox  and  his  cronies.  Keeping 
the  very  organization  secret  seems  no 
vital  matter  in  our  eyes,  but  the  strong 
chance  of  faculty  opposition  made  it  so 
to  them.  Then,  too,  there's  such  a  joy  in 
springing  a  thing  full-fledged  before  a 
gaping  and  wide-eyed  populace,  instead 
of  having  curious  and  uninvited  neighbors 
watch  you  stick  every  feather  on.  It's 
hard  to  keep  them  guessing,  too,  when 
these  deepest  secrets  of  your  heart  must 
no 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

be  rehearsed  and  even  your  ritual  enacted 
on  the  same  floor  with  two  dozen  prying 
youngsters,  especially  if  there's  a  broken 
lock  on  the  door  and  the  windows  won't 
track.  In  this  case  one  fellow  did  learn 
too  much.  This  was  Grimke  Swan,  a  par- 
ticularly tiresome  bore,  whom  nobody  had 
use  for.  What  was  worse,  he  demanded 
to  be  made  a  member,  or  he  would  divulge 
that  precious  little  he  had  already 
learned.  In  sheer  desperation  they  hit 
upon  a  plan.  Swan  was  given  a  nice  lit- 
tle burlesque  initiation  and  allowed  to 
buy  a  badge,  but  was  then  informed  that 
the  society  had  no  written  constitution, 
would  take  no  more  members,  and  did  not 
made  a  practice  of  holding  meetings.  He 
was  solemnly  admonished  as  to  secrecy, 
especially  about  his  pin,  and  was  cast 
cheerfully  adrift.  Luckily  he  drifted 
straight  out  of  college  at  the  end  of  the 
term,  or  he  might  have  made  things  warm 

for  some  of  his  resourceful  brothers. 
Ill 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

In  the  winter  of  1847  occurred  the 
largest  concerted  prank  in  the  history 
of  Miami, — the  Snow  Rebellion.  The 
members  of  both  fraternities,  being  in- 
clined to  get  underneath  the  spotlight  in 
everything  and  being  on  none  too  loving 
terms  with  the  faculty,  were  of  course 
ring-leaders  in  this.  But  the  experience 
played  havoc  with  their  bands  of  choice 
but  restless  spirits.  When  the  snow  fell 
there  were  eight  Alphas  and  eight  Betas 
in  college.  Of  the  former  there  were  two 
each  of  seniors,  juniors  and  sophomores, 
together  with  one  freshman  and  one  prep ; 
of  the  latter,  four  seniors,  two  juniors,  a 
sophomore  and  a  prep.  When  the  ax  fell 
and  got  through  falling,  there  were  two 
Beta  seniors  left  to  graduate,  and  not  an 
Alpha  on  the  premises.  This  doesn't 
mean  wholesale  expulsion,  as  will  appear 
later;  but  chiefly  for  reasons  connected 
with  those  eventful  nights  these  men  lost 

112 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

interest  in  the  institution.  At  any  rate 
the  Greek  fraternities  were  left  in  a  state 
of  general  disability. 

At  this  juncture  appeared  Phi  Delta 
Theta,  conceived  and  instituted  by  Mor- 
rison and  Wilson.  In  some  ways  it's  an 
old  tale  retold.  Again  there  is  the  inten- 
tion to  discard  the  despised  shortcomings 
of  others;  again  the  choosing  of  euphon- 
ious letters  from  the  Greek  alphabet  and 
the  finding  of  a  motto  that  will  fit.  But 
there  are  two  marks  of  distinction.  Phi 
Delta  Theta  w^as  not  organized  in  the 
spirit  of  rivalry,  for  at  that  moment  there 
was  not  enough  combined  opposition  to 
utter  one  expiring  croak.  Neither  was  it 
an  organization  out  of  tune  with  the  fac- 
ulty. Rather,  the  professors  were  friend- 
ly to  it  from  the  start,  and  before  long 
their  names  began  even  to  decorate  its 
rolls.  Indeed  with  this  society  a  new  era 
of  fellowship  dawned  between  instructor 

113 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

and  instructed,  and  for  some  years  it  was 
a  rather  extended  practice  among  frater- 
nities to  solicit  and  initiate  faculty  peo- 
ple, together  with  such  imported  orators 
and  itinerant  lecturers  as  might  add  their 
bit  of  tinsel  to  the  general  glitter  of  fame. 
These  first  two  Phi  Delts  planned 
wisely  and  well.  Between  them  a  consti- 
tution and  a  fraternal  bond  were  drafted, 
and  the  fellows  they  desired  set  apart. 
All  were  expected  to  fall  into  the  plan  but 
Ardivan  Rodgers,  the  lad  who  afterward 
displayed  a  mind  of  his  own  in  submit- 
ting an  Erodelphian  appointment  to  the 
faculty.  Rodgers  was  known  to  like  the 
crowd,  but  to  oppose  all  secret  societies. 
Fortunately  Morrison  was  generally  sup- 
posed to  have  the  same  prejudice.  So  all 
the  prospective  members  were  called  to- 
gether one  night  in  Wilson's  room,  where 
they  signed  an  obligation  of  secrecy — not 
in  blood — and  then  listened  to  their  host 

114 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

propose  his  plan.  All  agreed  to  it 
promptly  but  Morrison  and  Rodgers. 
Then  Wilson  turned  his  guns  on  Mor- 
rison, who  yielded  his  life-long  opinions 
(sly  old  rogue!)  only  after  a  good  half- 
hour  of  persuasion.  Rodgers  listened 
eagerly  and  fell  into  the  trap  so  easily 
that  Wilson  almost  fainted.  "This  soci- 
ety," he  explained  carefully,  "is  really 
not  secret  to  me,  you  see." 

Then  came  the  usual  experiences  of 
these  infant  secret-foundries.  Meetings 
were  held  at  each  other's  rooms,  where 
business  was  transacted  in  thrilling  stage 
whispers.  In  pleasant  weather  they 
assembled  on  the  creek  bank  and  put  out 
sleepy  pickets.  Their  existence  was  not 
widely  known.  In  fact  various  of  the 
boys  were  invited  to  help  revive  the  other 
societies  that  had  gone  defunct.  It  is 
handed  down  in  the  archives  that  they 
proudly  scorned  these  base  and  ignoble 

115 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

offers,  or  words  to  that  effect.  Their 
badges  were  another  variety  of  breast- 
plate, about  the  size  of  a  young  tea-tray. 
These,  too,  were  kept  under  cover  until 
the  spring  of  '52,  when  they  were  at  last 
flashed  upon  the  world  at  a  senior  party. 
A  Phi  of  the  period,  probably  a  sopho- 
more, wrote  modestly  to  a  friend  of  the 
effect  produced:  "The  boys  developed 
themselves  in  grand  agony — agony  in- 
deed of  the  Alphas  and  Betas,  as  glitter- 
ing of  the  golden  shields  drew  tears  from 
their  eyes."  Sounds  like  Homer,  doesn't 
it? 

These  early  Phi  Delts  were  great 
experimenters.  Like  their  esteemed 
friends  the  Betas,  they  were  aggressive 
in  passing  a  good  thing  along,  and  soon 
had  lively  young  chapters  established 
at  various  strategic  points.  Then  they 
got  hold  of  some  kind  of  visionary 
plan,  which  nobody  quite  understood, 
116 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

for  a  fraternal  organization  among  their 
own  graduates.  "The  Higher  Order  of 
Alumni,"  they  called  it.  This  wheel 
within  a  wheel  was  too  much  of  a  good 
thing,  though,  and  survived  only  a  couple 
of  meetings.  There  was  also  the  scheme 
of  ''bicameral  chapters."  Some  one  had 
started  the  notion  that  a  chapter  should 
have  only  a  mere  handful  of  active  mem- 
bers, and  Phi  Delta  Theta  had  limited 
this  number  to  ten.  When  she  reached 
her  limit  there  were  still  some  good  fel- 
lows she  hated  to  let  go.  A  second  chap- 
ter was  created  at  Miami,  with  a  name 
and  organization  all  its  own.  This  lin- 
gered on  for  some  years,  a  cumbersome 
and  awkward  arrangement,  until  finally 
the  partition  was  shattered  and  the  two 
rooms  became  one. 

It  is  well  that  a  mere  slave  of  a  chron- 
icler approach  the  next  period  with  lag- 
ging step  and  terror  in  his  heart.    For  lo, 

117 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

it  is  a  period  of  division  and  strife,  wliere 
brother's  hand  is  raised  ao^ainst  brother, 
and  each  sayeth  unto  other,  "Bah,  go  to!" 
On  either  side  in  both  tourneys  there 
were  good  men  and  true,  and  every  sad- 
eyed  contestant  felt  that  he  was  offering 
some  of  the  dearest  friendships  of  his  life 
on  that  same  old  overcrowded  altar  of 
principle.  Conservative  and  liberal  were 
fighting  in  those  little  bands  of  Greeks, 
just  as  they  have  been  at  it,  under  one 
disguise  and  another,  down  through  the 
ages.  Out  of  the  dust  of  both  encounters 
gleamed  the  ruddy  'scutcheon  of  the 
Demon  Rum,  a  proboscis  gules  above  a 
thirst  rampant;  and  as  might  be  ex- 
pected, he  was  always  with  the  liberals. 
The  most  peculiar  thing  about  it  lies  right 
here.  There  was  one  party  taking  part 
in  both  the  lists;  but  in  one  it  contended 
as  a  dashing  liberal;  in  the  other  as  a 
stern  conservative.  So  much  for  the  con- 
sistency of  college  boys. 

118 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

The  first  arena  was  the  premises  of 
Phi  Delta  Theta.  They  had  seen  some 
three  years  of  prosperous  existence,  and 
were  taking  themselves  very  seriously. 
It  was  a  splendid  crowd,  with  the  stubby 
figure  of  Ben  Harrison  as  a  leading  spirit, 
when  he  could  spare  the  time  from 
Scott's.  For  some  months  they  had  been 
considering  a  total-abstinence  regulation, 
but  one  faction  claimed  that  this  was  a 
matter  of  a  man's  own  conscience.  Har- 
rison and  his  cohort,  with  some  faculty 
backing,  urged  the  measure  upon  them. 
The  opposition  kept  shoving  it  on  into  the 
future.  Then  one  day  Gid.  McNutt  came 
laughing  into  their  midst,  and  the  prop- 
osition could  be  shoved  no  farther.  You 
have  known  men  like  Gid. :  brilliant,  mag- 
netic, impulsive,  devil-may-care ;  the  kind 
of  man  you  love  in  spite  of  you,  and  your 
heart  aches  as  you  watch  him  take  some 
fatal  plunge  with  a  song  on  his  lips. 

119 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

The  whole  chapter  wanted  Gid.  at 
once,  and  soon  had  his  promise  to  join 
them.  But  the  total  abstinence  law  was 
never  framed  that  Gid.  could  keep.  He 
was  always  falling  by  the  wayside,  to 
rise  again  in  the  ashen  daybreak  and  give 
a  tearful  pledge  of  everlasting  rectitude. 
And  he  meant  it  too.  He  joined  the  col- 
lege temperance  society,  was  made  its 
prosecuting  officer,  and  bless  me  if  the 
imp  of  the  perverse  didn't  tempt  him  into 
stumbling  on  the  very  nights  when  the 
society  was  meeting. 

The  chapter  told  him  he  must 
straighten  up  or  never  be  initiated.  He 
promised  sincerely;  and  two  weeks  later 
went  through  the  ceremony  happy  as  a 
king,  but  somewhat  more  than  half  seas 
over.  Then  came  the  crisis.  One  party 
was  for  expelling  him  at  once,  together 
with  another  brother  who  had  assisted 
rather  largely  in  his  excesses.    The  lib- 

120 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

erals  argued  for  forgiveness  and  still  one 
more  trial:  they  had  lost  count  just  how 
many  that  would  make.  Finally,  in  the 
heat  of  controversy,  they  asserted  that  if 
these  men  went  they  would  go  too.  Sol- 
emnly they  approached  a  ballot,  dreading 
all  of  them  to  face  the  issue.  At  last  it 
came.  McNutt  and  his  convivial  comrade 
groped  their  way  from  the  room,  and 
after  them  came  three  others  of  the  little 
group — never  again  to  enter  the  counsels 
of  the  chapter.  Under  an  elm  in  the 
campus  the  culprits  and  the  bolters  met 
and  swore  allegience,  while  back  in  the 
dimly-lighted  little  room,  Phi  Delta  Theta 
sat  silent  but  triumphant  after  her  bap- 
tism of  blood. 

Before  long  Gid.  had  one  dramatic  op- 
portunity to  right  himself  before  the  stu- 
dent body,  and  his  friends,  the  bolters, 
quickly  appropriated  a  share  in  the  glory. 


121 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

The  abolition  question  was  then  waxing 
hotter  every  day,  and  the  advent  of  some 
professional  spellbinder  was  almost  a 
weekly  occurrence.  An  eloquent  specimen 
of  the  class,  the  rabid  abolitionist  James 
G.  Birney,  appeared  one  night  before  a 
large  audience  in  the  Town  Hall,  pre- 
sented his  case  vigorously,  and  then — as 
was  his  wont — challenged  discussion.  A 
prominent  student — some  folks  say  he 
was  a  Phi  Delt — rose  to  reply.  But  when 
he  was  well  under  way,  Birney  directed 
a  few  adroit  questions  which  left  the  poor 
fellow  floundering  and  defeated.  Some- 
body called  for  Gid.,  and  he  was  on  a 
chair  in  a  moment.  Evidently  this  was 
not  the  night  for  temperance  society,  and 
he  was  at  his  best.  As  he  always  could, 
he  won  his  hearers '  hearts  at  once.  Then 
for  two  hours  he  assailed  the  attitude 
of  extremists  on  both  sides,  pleading 
earnestly    for    the    preservation    of    the 

122 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

Union.  The  lecturer  confessed  his  sur- 
prise and  asked  a  day  to  prepare  his  re- 
joinder; but  somehow  business  called 
him  out  of  town  next  morning  after 
breakfast.  Gid.  enjoyed  a  triumphal 
entry  into  chapel,  with  his  loyal  cronies 
tagging  gleefully  along  behind. 

Soon  after  this,  Jacob  Cooper,  a  D. 
K.  E.  from  Yale  whose  parents  lived 
near  Oxford,  visited  at  Miami  and  became 
acquainted  with  this  Gideon's  band.  He 
proposed  to  them  a  chapter  of  his  own 
fraternity,  and  ultimately  succeeded  in 
establishing  it.  Thus  the  Dekes  appeared 
in  the  University  in  1852,  and  entered 
their  claim  for  recognition.  Into  their 
ranks  came  such  men  as  Millikin  and 
Runkle  and  Whitelaw  Reid,  and  in  four 
short  years  they  were  called  upon  to  face 
a  crisis  exactly  parallel  to  the  one  that 
had  created  them.  Once  more  conserv- 
ative faced  liberal.    Once  more  one  caught 

123 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

a  glimpse  occasionally  of  the  proboscis 
gules  above  a  thirst  rampant.  Once  more, 
indeed,  there  came  a  parting  of  the  ways, 
and  the  liberals  groped  their  way  out  into 
the  darkness  to  found  a  brotherhood  of 
their  own. 

As  Harrison  seemed  to  dominate  the 
earlier  controversy,  so  Reid  stands  out  as 
leading  spirit  in  this,  with  Minor  Mil- 
likin,  then  an  alumnus,  just  behind  the 
scenes,  ready  to  enter  when  needed  as  the 
deus  ex  iiuwliina.  The  immediate  occa- 
sion of  conflict  this  time  was  political. 
Eeid  was  then  a  long-haired,  pale-faced, 
graceful  youth,  nervous,  industrious  and 
ambitious,  and  in  fraternity  life  his  fa- 
vorite hobby  was  compact  organization. 
The  liberals  could  not  go  with  him  quite 
all  the  way.  Their  motto  was  "Bum  vivi- 
Tnusvivamus/'and  they  couldn't  see  what 
difference  it  made  to  J.  Whitelaw  if  they 
chose  to  readit  " Diun  hihii)ius  hibanius.'' 

124 


'DOM   VIVIMUS   VIVAMUS' 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

Then,  too,  this  caucus  business  looked  all 
right  to  them,  when  there  was  no  oppo- 
nent that  you  wished  to  vote  for.  But 
Reid  insisted  always,  in  storm  or  calm, 
on  strict  obedience  to  King  Caucus. 

The  slate  was  in  the  making  for  the 
winter  Exhibition  of  the  Erodelphian  So- 
ciety, 1856.  "For  chief  orator,  J.  White- 
law  Reid."  Nobody  could  quibble  or  ob- 
ject on  that  selection,  for  Reid's  fame  was 
recognized  far  and  wide.  "For  poet — ?" 
There  was  the  rub.  Nary  a  Deke  had 
ever  courted  the  Muses  so  that  you  would 
care  to  notice  it ;  and  if  the  sad  truth  must 
be  known,  few  of  them  could  have  told  a 
caesura  from  an  anaepest.  But  Reid 
would  fain  have  a  poet,  and  for  him  there 
was  no  joy  in  life  until  a  candidate  for 
bardic  honors  made  the  slate  complete. 
Then  the  liberals,  with  Runkle  and  Cald- 
well at  their  head,  walked  calmly  into 
Erodelphian  Hall  and  voted  for  a  rank 

126 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

outsider  to  do  their  poetizing.  From  this 
the  conflict  started.  Charges  and  coun- 
tercharges were  flung  about  recklessly, 
that  night  after  the  election,  and  when 
the  chapter  adjourned,  somewhere  in  the 
morning  hours,  it  seemed  hopelessly  di- 
vided. 

Two  or  three  later  meetings  failed  to 
patch  up  the  rent,  although  alumni  mem- 
bers were  constantly  insisting  on  a  recon- 
ciliation. One  night  in  the  heat  of  the 
contention  a  commanding  presence  strode 
into  the  room.  With  it  came  an  equally 
commanding  voice  that  said:  ''Gentle- 
men, some  of  the  younger  of  you  do  not 
know  me.  I  am  Minor  Millikin  of  Ham- 
ilton, and  I  demand,  in  behalf  of  the 
alumni  of  the  chapter,  that  you  abide  by 
the  rulings  of  the  society."  In  a  second 
the  doughty  Runkle  was  on  his  feet.  ' '  I, " 
he  declared,  ''am  the  Sultan  of  Turkey 
and  the  Grand  Llama  of  Beloochistan.    I 

127 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

didn't  join  this  society  to  be  anybody's 
tool.  There's  my  answer!"  He  flung  his 
badge  jingling  on  the  table,  and  with  his 
fellow  liberals  stalked  from  the  room. 

Soon  this  refractory  half-dozen  raised 
as  their  new  standard  the  white  cross  of 
Sigma  Phi,  and  stood  ready  to  defend  it 
against  all  comers.  One  fellow  jeered  at 
their  badges  the  first  morning  at  chapel, 
or  at  least  Runkle  thought  he  did. 
Promptly  after  prayers  the  future  gener- 
alissimo mixed  things  up  with  him  in  a 
masterly  manner  and  fellow  Greeks  had  no 
little  trouble  in  pulling  them  apart.  Then 
somebody  made  away  with  the  ritual  and 
sacred  stage-properties  of  the  new  Sigs. 
They  looked  large  black  holes  of  suspi- 
cion through  Delta  Kappa  Epsilon,  and 
immediately  went  to  work  training  a  new 
goat.  This  time  they  called  themselves 
Sigma  Chi  and  busily  took  up  the  prob- 
lem of  chapter  extension.     Fortunately 

128 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

this  was  highly  successful,  for  by  some 
local  mismanagement  the  Alpha  chapter 
became  inactive  in  a  short  while.  The 
only  other  fraternity  ever  represented  in 
Miami  was  Delta  Upsilon,  from  the  year 
1868. 

Heigho,  for  the  quarrels  and  conflicts 
of  college  days!  It  seems  a  shame, 
almost,  to  draw  them  out  from  the  cur- 
tained recesses  of  memory  and  expose 
them  to  the  daylight.  The  lads  who 
thrust  and  parried  in  them  were  soon  to 
have  their  differences  levelled  and  their 
wounds  healed  in  the  fiery  ordeal  of  a 
real  conflict.  When  Runkle's  pain-racked 
body  lay  upon  the  field  of  Shiloh,  with 
wounds  pronounced  as  mortal,  Whitelaw 
Reid  took  no  thought  of  school-boy  dif- 
ferences, but  the  busy  war-correspondent 
found  time  to  pay  glowing  tribute  to 
the  gallantry  and  worth  of  this  old  college 
comrade.    You  who  are  college  men  will 

129 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

read  between  the  lines  of  this  extended 
tale  of  woes  and  see  the  real  richness  of 
the  life  that  was  there.  The  rest  of  you 
must  remember  that  chronicles  are  too 
often  built  only  out  of  disturbance  and 
strife. 


130 


l^^ 


lLB^tttiti;@B#.( 


1  tv      V7-;v::rx?X>^^"?^ 


THE  other  day  someone  mentioned 
it  as  an  amusing  coincidence  that 
so  soon  after  the  young  manhood  of  the 
Miami  Valley  began  assembling  at  Ox- 
ford, the  attractive  young  ladies  of  the 
vicinity  should  have  been  possessed  with 
a  marked  yearning  for  higher  education 
in  the  same  environment.  Amusing,  per- 
haps ;  but  as  old  and  natural  as  the  proces- 
sion of  the  equinoxes.  About  that  spa- 
cious old  campus,  when  its  greensward 
teems  with  Johnny- jump-ups  and  its  foli- 
age glistens  in  the  sunlight  of  June,  there 
surely  lingers  the  primeval  loveliness  of 
the  first  paradise.  Who  would  expect 
that  the  splendid  specimen  of  man,  lithe- 

131 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

limbed  and  stainless,  that  came  in  the 
early  days  to  eat  of  the  tree  of  knowl- 
edge there,  should  munch  his  little  apple 
contentedly  alone'?  Faithfully,  as  we 
shall  see,  were  the  scriptures  fulfilled. 
From  next  the  great  red,  throbbing  heart 
of  man  the  rib  was  quietly  extracted,  and 
when  he  awoke  and  did  behold,  there 
stood  beside  him,  demurely  curtseying, 
one  like  unto  himself  but  fairer.  And 
the  only  tempter  that  has  ever  entered 
the  garden  flew  on  gossamer  wings,  car- 
ried a  bent  bow  in  his  infant  hands,  and 
wore  no  attire  to  speak  of.  He  has  come 
often,  too. 

Indeed,  from  the  very  opening  of  the 
University,  there  were  facilities  about 
the  village  for  the  education  of  girls.  At 
first  these  were  apparently  private  ven- 
tures, the  refined  and  eminently  harmless 
'* dames'  schools"  of  our  forefathers. 
That  didn't  prevent  their  taking  impres- 

132 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

sive  names;  as  is  indicated  by  a  casual 
statement,  in  the  Literary  Focus  for 
October,  1827,  that  ''a  female  academy 
has  also  been  opened  in  the  village  of  Ox- 
ford during  the  last  session."  Now  "fe- 
male academy"  sounds  wholesomely  in- 
tellectual. Whatever  may  be  the  facts  of 
the  case,  that  name  lifts  j^ou  straight  out 
from  the  sensitive  region  where  chill 
households  of  simpering  damsels  are  pre- 
sided over  by  indigent  maiden-ladies  in 
lavender,  who  have  undertaken,  for  a 
reasonable  stipend,  to  impart  to  their 
charges  the  proprieties  of  social  converse, 
a  slight  knowledge  of  the  spinnet  and  the 
harpsichord  and  a  marvelous  dexterity 
with  samplers,  hair-wreaths  and  waxen 
posies.  It  brings  j^ou  face-to-face  with 
real  learning,  adorned  with  blue  spec- 
tacles and  bluer  stockings,  and  no  frills 
to  fuss  over. 


133 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

By  1830,  at  any  rate,  there  was  an 
academy  which  measured  up  to  the  name. 
That  is,  it  did  if  the  traditions  regarding 
its  preceptress  may  be  trusted.  She  was 
Miss  Bethania  Crocker,  marvelously 
mature  child  of  sixteen,  who  came  over 
from  Indiana  and  set  up  her  little  school. 
Her  own  training  had  come  from  her 
father,  a  pioneer  preacher  who  never 
quite  knew  whether  he  was  Congrega- 
tionalist  or  Presbyterian.  But  the  daugh- 
ter— ^mercy  me!  As  a  baby  she  swal- 
lowed Greek  and  Latin  with  her  corn- 
meal  porridge,  and  pounded  on  the  table 
with  her  spoon  for  more.  She  read  all 
the  Hebrew  she  could  find  and  did  higher 
mathematics  for  pastime.  No  cup-and- 
saucer  courses  in  accomplishment  for 
her.  Her  fame  spread  and  her  pro- 
ject flourished,  drawing  girls  from  at 
least  three  states.  Then  the  strangest 
thing  happened.     The  erudite  Bethania 

134 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

smoothed  the  vertical  wrinkles  from  her 
brow,  blushed  and  giggled  and  consented 
like  an  ordinary  creature,  and  became  the 
wife  of  the  Reverend  George  Bishop,  a 
son  of  the  Miami  president. 

A  whole  string  of  private  schools  fol- 
lowed, most  of  them  probably  of  the 
sampler  and  harpsichord  variety.  Of 
preceptresses  there  were  Miss  Smith  and 
Miss  Clark,  the  North  sisters,  Miss  May- 
hew  and  another  Miss  Clark;  and  good- 
ness knows  how  many  more.  But  no  one 
of  them  lasted  very  long.  How  could  she? 
Hardly  did  she  collect  her  little  flock  and 
parade  with  them  once  or  twice  to  village 
worship,  when  some  young  preacher  or 
professor,  smitten  to  the  core  of  his  poor 
lonely  heart,  would  urge  her  so  pathet- 
ically to  bless  his  life  and  help  spend  his 
$200  salary,  that  she  simply  could  not 
refuse  him.  Finally,  in  the  early  40 's, 
the     supply     of     marriageable     Oxford 

135 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

schoolmistresses  was  for  once  exhausted, 
and  the  citizens  realized  that  something 
desperate  must  be  done. 

At  length  they  contributed  of  their 
humble  means  and  put  up  an  academy 
building  on  a  small  scale.  By  this  time 
Doctor  Scott,  who  had  once  been  an  im- 
portant factor  in  Miami  affairs,  but  had 
retired  with  President  Bishop  to  College 
Hill,  was  having  notable  success  there 
with  the  Female  Institute  he  was  con- 
ducting in  connection  with  the  new 
Farmer's  College.  Being  a  man  and 
married,  he  would  run  no  particular  risk 
of  falling  a  prey  to  ministerial  suitors. 
Having  served  his  apprenticeship  in  the 
University  faculty,  he  could  be  counted 
on  to  give  to  the  girls  a  college  training 
that  came  in  men's  sizes  and  involved 
some  good  hard  work.  So  the  citizens 
of  Oxford  invited  the  Scotts  to  return  to 
the  classic  village,  occupy  the  new  build- 

136 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

ing,  and  create  therein  the  Oxford  Fe- 
male Institute.  The  doctor  promptly 
complied,  bringing  his  previous  charge 
along  with  him  in  an  omnibus,  and  in 
1849  the  new  institution  opened  its  doors. 
One  hundred  and  thirty-nine  students 
were  enrolled  during  the  first  year,  and 
the  numbers  continued  to  grow  for  some 
time  thereafter. 

You  may  be  sure  that  none  of  this 
was  lost  on  the  keen-eyed  young  fellows 
at  the  other  end  of  town.  They  were 
glad  to  have  Doctor  Scott  back  home 
again.  Tradition  said  he  was  the  right 
sort,  and  they  welcomed  him.  But  the 
welcoming  process,  when  applied  to 
seven  score  demure  and  rosy  lassies,  was 
a  matter  for  careful,  if  not  prayerful, 
consideration.  On  one  point  Adam  was 
certain.  He  was  immensely  pleased  with 
Eve  on  first  inspection,  and  found  no 
fault  with  the  alliance.    Then  every  fel- 

137 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

low  proceeded  to  supply  himself  with 
giddier  waistcoats  and  tighter  boots,  to 
toss  the  long  locks  back  from  his  fore- 
head in  a  Byronic  fashion,  and  to  prac- 
tice fetching  postures  and  languishing 
glances  before  the  broken  mirror  when 
his  room-mate  was  not  in.  Courage  grew 
with  familiarity,  as  acquaintance  ripened 
into  friendship.  Soon  the  shrewd  and 
wiry  doctor  was  kept  busy  directing  his 
charges  where  their  little  feet  should 
travel;  and  many  a  time  his  ready  walk- 
ing-stick did  service  tapping  some  over- 
gallant  swain  back  to  a  crushed  and 
sheepish  state  of  self-consciousness. 

In  all  this  searching  of  young  souls, 
Doctor  Scott's  attractive  daughter  Caro- 
line was  by  no  means  left  in  the  back- 
gromid.  Plump  and  petite,  with  a  jolly 
twinkle  in  her  sharp  eyes,  and  a  bitter 
little  tongue  in  her  head,  Carrie  more 
than  divided  honors    with    her    father's 

138 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

charming  pupils.  There  were  boys 
a-plenty  angling  for  her  smiles ;  and,  being 
wise  beyond  her  seventeen  years,  she 
distributed  those  smiles  impartially. 
But  the  suitors  grudgingly  confessed 
that  her  real  preference  was  the  chap 
who  was  reported  to  have  followed  her 
all  the  way  from  College  Hill,  a  quiet, 
studious  young  fellow  named  Ben  Harri- 
son. Word  had  passed  about  the  town, 
almost  before  his  credentials  were  in 
from  Farmer's  College,  that  this  was  a 
grandson  of  the  late  president,  William 
Henry  Harrison,  and  now  to  find  such 
a  celebrity  in  love  added  greatly  to  his 
interest. 

Ben  wasn't  much  to  look  at  in  those 
days;  neither  was  he  a  dashing  leader 
in  boyish  pranks  or  an  adept  in  the  social 
graces.  He  was  short  and  flat-chested, 
vv'ith  colorless  hair  and  a  complexion 
very  much  like  tallow.    There  were  good 

139 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

e^^es  beneath  his  high  forehead,  and  they 
lighted  up  with  interest  and  sympathy 
in  literary  meeting  or  Greek  conclave. 
Bnt  generally  he  was  silent  and  reserved 
and  meditative.  David  Swing,  some- 
time before  his  death,  graphically  re- 
called his  campus  impression  of  this 
solemn-visaged  youth,  his  classmate  and 
fraternity-brother.  "He  was  an  earnest, 
grave  fellow,"  said  Swing,  *'and  had  no 
time  or  taste  for  any  form  of  mischief 
or  for  joining  in  a  moonlight  serenade. 
I  was  out  with  a  dozen  or  so  many  a 
night,  singing  Nellie  Bly  or  Annie  Laurie 
under  the  window  of  sour  professor  or 
sweet  school-girl,  without  distinction  of 
person.  But  Ben  was  never  along.  He 
was  reading  the  speeches  of  Edmund 
Burke  or  the  essays  of  Macaula}^  or  was 
making  the  weekly  call  on  Carrie  Scott." 
The  new  Institute  building  was  en- 
tirely taken  up  with  class  rooms,  society 

140 


THE     FEMALE      INSTITUTIONS 

halls,  and  the  like,  so  that  accommoda- 
tions and  abundant  provender  for  this 
horde  of  rosy  cheeked  damsels  offered 
no  small  problem  to  the  Scotts.  They 
themselves  attempted  to  live  in  a  moder- 
ate-sized frame  cottage  across  the  street, 
packing  the  place  full  of  girls  and  mak- 
ing a  frenzied  effort  to  satisfy  those  deli- 
cate 3^oung  appetites.  Beau-time  was 
limited  and  private  sparking-spots  were 
at  a  premium  in  such  close  quarters, 
even  for  a  daughter  of  the  household. 
But  luckily  for  Miss  Caroline,  the  Scott 
cottage  was  adorned  with  a  queer  little 
old-fashioned  front  stoop,  forbidden  to 
the  boarders.  At  each  side  of  this  stoop, 
flanking  the  front  door  like  the  high- 
backed  settles  beside  an  ancient  fire- 
place, were  simple  wooden  benches  bare- 
ly large  enough  for  two.  This  arrange- 
ment must  have  had  a  fascination  for 
Ben,    especially    in    those    long,    balmy, 

141 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

drowsy  nights  of  early  summer,  when 
young  hearts  yearn  and  the  lazy  moon 
smiles  slyly  down  through  the  dense  and 
silent  foliage  of  the  maples.  It  was  a 
regular  thing,  at  least,  to  find  the  couple 
there  side  by  side — one  bench  was 
enough,  forsooth — braving  the  dread 
night-air  that  mothers  talk  about,  and 
planning  the  airy  structure  of  shimmer- 
ing castles  in  the  land  of  make-believe. 
Blood  of  heroes  flowed  beneath  the  boy's 
pale  skin,  and  ambition  gleamed  in  his 
eye.  But  it  is  doubtful  if  anywhere  in 
those  brain-creations  a  place  was  made 
for  presidential  dignity  and  the  honors 
of  "the  first  lady." 

Two  years  sped  by  before  the  lovers 
knew  it.  Young  Harrison  had  found  op- 
portunity for  many  things  besides  doing 
time  on  the  Scott  doorstep.  His  was  one 
of  the  strongest  classes  in  Miami  history, 
but  he  kept  well  at  the  top  of  it.    Soon 

142 


"Braving   thk   drkad   night-aih   that    motiikks  talk   ahoit." 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

after  he  arrived  he  signed  the  bond  of 
the  Phi  Delts,  and  they  had  some  troub- 
lous times  about  then  for  a  fellow  of  his 
principles.  The  literary  hall  almost  di- 
vided his  heart  with  his  lady,  and  he 
never  failed  in  his  performance  there. 
On  the  commencement  program  for  1852, 
in  a  rather  obscure  position,  appear 
these  words: 

"Poor   of  England,"    ...Benjamin  Harris,  North  Bend. 

Alas,  for  the  irony  of  fate,  and 
of  printer's  proof!  The  only  presi- 
dent and  grandson  of  a  president 
ever  turned  out  from  Miami's  halls, 
and  his  name  bungled  as  if  he  were 
an  obscure  freshman!  Anyhow  those 
who  know  assure  us  that  this  was  really 
Ben,  and  the  oration  he  delivered  was 
sincere  and  eloquent.  A  burst  of  ap- 
plause swept  through  the  grove  as  he 
finished,  and  all  the  little  maidens  cooed 

145 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

to  their  neighbors:  "Isn't  he  just  splen- 
did? Such  serious  eyes!"  Tradition  is 
silent  as  to  ^yhethe^  Miss  Scott  said  any- 
thing, but  we  can  guess  what  she 
thought.  Her  graduation  essay,  some 
weeks  before,  was  on  ''Ideality,"  but 
she  would  much  have  preferred  the  real 
when  Ben  departed  to  try  his  'prentice 
hand  at  life.  He  was  not  long  away, 
however.  Very  soon  a  few  selected 
guests  were  summoned  to  a  sweet  and 
quiet  ceremony  one  morning  just  inside 
the  old  Scott  doorway.  A  bridal  pair  was 
whisked  away  some  dozen  miles  by  stage 
to  the  nearest  railway  station,  accom- 
panied by  a  visiting  minister  who  wished 
there  were  any  other  way  on  earth  to 
reach  that  train.  Since  then  how  many 
generations  of  college  girls  have  gazed 
lingeringly  upon  that  quaint  front  stoop, 
and  wondered — and  wondered! 


146 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

Maybe  the  example  of  Ben  and  Caro- 
line was  contagious.  Maybe  the  trouble 
came  from  a  germ  in  the  air,  like  every- 
thing else  we  catch.  At  any  rate  there 
has  scarcely  been  a  year  from  1852  to 
date,  while  both  the  schools  were  run- 
ning with  a  full  head  of  youthful  steam, 
that  there  has  not  been  a  college  girl  who 
placed  her  little  pink  fingers  in  a  big 
Miami  fist  and  promised  to  be  his  for 
life.  Wh}^,  in  that  very  class  of  '52  there 
were  four  of  them;  and  there  is  more 
than  one  instance  on  record  where  a  son 
of  Miami  turned  from  mourning  for  his 
first  college  bride  to  seek  solace  in  the 
affection  of  a  second  from  the  same 
place.  Run  your  eye  down  the  alumnae 
list  of  this  female  institution  some  time, 
just  for  the  fun  of  it.  Smother  your 
curiosity  about  the  apparent  ages  of 
your  lady  friends,  and  concentrate  on 
the  column  headed  '' Husband's  Name." 

147 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

Check  off  the  Miami  people  there  re- 
corded, and  then  figure  on  the  girls  who 
didn't  graduate,  but  found  their  fate  in 
Oxford  just  the  same.  Then  you  will 
appreciate  the  importance  of  this  chap- 
ter. 

Some  people  and  some  institutions 
cannot  stand  success.  The  remarkable 
growth  of  the  Institute  fairly  turned  the 
heads  of  certain  Oxford  citizens  of  the 
Old  School  Presbyterian  faith.  They 
clamored  to  co-operate  with  Doctor 
Scott  in  the  erection  of  a  fine  new  build- 
ing and  the  institution  of  a  real  high- 
grade  college  for  young  women,  with  all 
its  opportunities  and  privileges  equal  to 
those  enjoyed  by  the  boys  at  Miami.  The 
pioneer  quality  and  deep  significance  of 
this  project  will  be  realized  when  we 
consider  that  twelve  years  were  then  to 
elapse  before  Matthew  Vassar  should 
even  conceive  of  the  college  that  bears 

148 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

his  name.  A  company  was  formed,  and 
very  soon  subscriptions  amounted  to 
$60,000,  an  enormous  sum  for  that  time. 
But  the  outlay  was  more  enormous  still, 
— ruinously  enormous,  as  events  proved. 
A  beautiful  plot  of  ground  was  secured 
north-east  of  the  village,  and  a  structure 
reared  which  was  a  marvel  of  its  kind, 
and  involved  a  debt  almost  equal  to  the 
original  stock. 

Not  all  the  friends  of  the  old  Institute 
were  favorable  to  all  this,  and  many 
were  the  annoying  difficulties  thrown  in 
the  Doctor's  none  too  practical  way.  One 
party  detemimed  that  the  Institute  was 
to  continue  in  an  unbroken  career;  and 
before  he  could  anticipate  it,  he  found 
himself  ousted  from  his  old  quarters 
while  the  new  ones  were  still  at  the 
mercy  of  the  carpenters,  and  right  in 
the  middle  of  winter,  at  that.  For  over 
a  year  Doctor  Scott's  girls  continued  to 

149 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

live  about  the  village  as  before,  and  ap- 
propriated the  old  Girard  Hotel  for  col- 
lege purposes.  Perhaps  that  accounts 
for  the  cold,  academic  air  it  still  retains. 
Feeling  was  high  in  the  village,  with  the 
interesting  paradox  that  everybody  of 
the  Old  School  faith  was  pulling  for  the 
new  school,  ^vhile  adherents  of  New 
School  doctrines,  with  representatives  of 
various  other  denominations,  were  for 
once  unshaken  in  their  allegiance  to  the 
old  school. 

Such  conditions  nearly  always  pro- 
duce a  few  farce-comedy  features.  This 
time  it  was  the  episode  of  a  case  of 
books.  The  Female  Institute,  in  emula- 
tion of  its  masculine  neighbor,  had  es- 
tablished two  literary  societies,  with 
long,  pretty  Greek  names:  Calliopean 
and  Philalethian.  It  was  Doctor  Scott's 
idea  that  these  should  be  transferred 
bodily — charters,      charming     members, 

150 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

and  furniture — to  his  new  temple  of 
learning.  But  a  few  of  these  members, 
possibly  encouraged  in  secret  by  the  op- 
position, declared  that  these  societies 
with  their  equipment  belonged  to  the  In- 
stitute and  there  they  should  remain. 
Perhaps  by  accident,  perhaps  because 
his  own  ginger  was  a  little  up,  the  Doctor 
in  his  hurried  moving  from  the  Institute 
took  with  him  the  book-cases  and  dust- 
covered  library  belonging  to  the  Philale- 
thians.  It  was  some  time  before  the  In- 
stitute party  in  the  sisterhood  dis- 
covered their  loss,  and  then  how  they  did 
sputter!  Their  former  beloved  presi- 
dent suddenly  became  "a  nasty  mean  old 
thing,"  '^a  low-down  stealer"  and  a  hun- 
dred other  lady-like  terms  that  really 
don't  sound  half -bad  from  a  dozen  pairs 
of  winsome  lips.  Certain  aggrieved 
townspeople  got  hold  of  the  affair,  and 
then  they  proceeded  to  talk  about  it.    So 

151 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

much  was  hinted  regardmg  criminal 
prosecution  that  Doctor  Scott  secured  the 
best  legal  talent  in  Hamilton  to  defend 
him. 

All  this  was  royal  sport  for  the  Miami 
contingent.  Somehow  the  word  was 
spread  concerning  the  counsellor-at-law, 
and  the  boys,  spoiling  for  the  fun,  in- 
sisted that  the  Institute  girls  begin  their 
suit  without  delay.  The  more  they 
talked,  the  more  urgent  it  seemed,  until 
at  last  a  crowd  of  excited  fellows  got  a 
rig  and  drove  madly  to  Hamilton  by  night 
to  employ  an  attorney  for  the  prosecu- 
tion. No  one  was  found  to  satisfy  them, 
and  the  case  finally  went  to  an  Oxford 
lawyer,  who  really  did  just  as  well. 
After  all  the  boys  had  talked  themselves 
hoarse,  and  all  the  girls  had  run  the 
gamut  of  acute  hysteria,  and  they  had  all 
enjoyed  about  seven  times  as  many  hours 
of  each  other's  company  as  would  have 

152 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

been  permitted  in  a  time  of  slothful 
peace,  the  two  attorneys  got  together  one 
fine  afternoon,  winked  knowingly  three 
long,  mutual  and  impressive  winks,  and 
agreed  that  their  clients  would  do  well  to 
compromise,  the  attorney's  fees  on  either 
side  being  appropriate  to  so  momentous 
a  case.  Amid  such  difficulties  arose  the 
massive  structure  of  the  Female  College, 
which  was  finally  dedicated  in  Septem- 
ber, 1856.  The  Female  Institute  passed 
into  the  control  of  the  United  Presbyter- 
ians and  was  continued  under  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Reverend  J.  H.  Buchanan.  In 
1867  it  was  absorbed  by  the  College. 

It  has  been  noted  that  from  the  first 
these  "female  institutions"  purposed 
real  education,  scorning  the  tinsel  of 
mere  social  accomplishments.  Their 
model  was  found  in  Miami  University, 
which  was  just  then  turning  out  preach- 
ers, soldiers  and  statesmen  by  the  score. 

153 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

Erodelphian,  Eceritean  and  Miami  Union 
Halls  were  putting  finishing  touches  on 
this  product:  accordingly  both  Institute 
and  College  argued  and  declaimed  in 
Calliopean  and  Philalethian.  Like  their 
big  brothers,  these  latter  gave  literary 
exhibitions  during  the  winter,  and  at 
commencement  held  public  exercises  in 
which  appeared  some  noted  orator  from 
abroad,  and  some  recent  graduate  who 
presented  the  diplomas.  The  Miami 
missionary  spirit  found  vent  in  a  Societ}^ 
of  Religious  Inquiry;  the  College  also 
supported  its  Society  of  Inquiry.  Like 
the  University  too,  these  schools  had  a 
rigidly  prescribed  curriculum,  packed  full 
of  Greek  and  mathematics  and  philoso- 
phy. Worst  of  all,  they  borrowed  the 
custom  of  public  oral  examinations  in  all 
these  subjects  at  the  end  of  the  year,  with 
the  one  feminine  concession  that  they  had 
instrumental  music  between  sessions  of 

154 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

torture.  The  extremity  of  this  unsexing 
process  may  be  appreciated  by  this  cau- 
tion, which  ran  for  years  in  the  cata- 
logues of  the  Female  College : 

"Every  judicious  parent  will  see  the 
importance  of  discouraging  extravagance 
and  fondness  for  display.  Plain,  neat, 
modest  apparel  only  should  be  furnished. 
Jewelry,  except  in  a  very  limited  extent, 
will  not  be  allowed,  and  ought  not  to  be 
brought." 

Such  consideration  as  is  given  to  the 
eternal  feminine  seems  stingy  enough,  as 
we  glance  through  the  accurately  se- 
lected catalogue  phrases: 

' '  The  social  manners  and  habits  of  the 
students,  as  well  as  their  moral  and  re- 
ligious feelings,  are  carefully  and  zeal- 
ously guarded  and  cultivated." 

"No  respectable  male  college  now 
pretends  to  graduate  a  class  under  four 
years.     Young  ladies  need  more   time; 

155 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

for,  in  addition  to  the  regular  college 
r-onrse,  tliey  are  expected  to  devote  con- 
siderable time  to  those  branches  termed 
ornamental." 

Boarding  students  are  promised: — 
'*the  watchful  care  and  counsel  of  the 
lady  teachers  in  all  the  details  of  general 
deportment  and  social  etiquette." 

Special  courses  and  advantages  are 
offered  in  the  various  ornamental  sub- 
jects, but  with  this  reservation: — ''Music 
is  taught  for  the  mental  and  moral  ad- 
vancement of  the  student,  and  not  merel}^ 
as  an  outward  acomplishment." 

Now  you  need  not  proceed,  on  the 
strength  of  this,  to  picture  to  yourself  a 
serious  and  bespectacled  conclave  of  an- 
gular spinsters  in  Puritanic  garb,  cruci- 
fying the  flesh  and  absorbing  cambric 
tea  and  abstruse  "ologies."  Those  were 
real  girls,  full  of  energy  and  mischief, 
and  not  particularly  concerned  whether 

156 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

woman  had  a  sphere  or  not.  Just  remem- 
ber, please,  that  all  those  intercollegiate 
marriages  grew  out  of  intercollegiate  ro- 
mance, with  all  the  usual  accessories  of 
tender  missives  and  clandestine  trysts 
and  midnight  serenades.  Of  course 
sometimes  the  boys  varied  the  serenade 
program  by  appropriating  the  local 
stage-coach  in  the  dark  of  the  moon,  and 
leaving  it  amid  Doctor  Scott's  choice 
flower-beds  as  a  votive  offering  to  some 
lady  fair.  What  the  Doctor  said  next 
morning  to  his  posies,  or  the  remarks 
made  by  the  distinguished  visitor  delayed 
in  his  trip  to  Hamilton,  really  have  no 
bearing  on  the  situation. 

There  were  all  sorts  of  plausible  pre- 
texts in  operation  to  bring  the  boys  and 
girls  together.  Lectures,  receptions,  and 
literary  exhibitions  reached  a  total  sadly 
at  variance  with  the  rigid  spirit  of  the 
College  catalogue.    That  artful  tickler  of 

157 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

man's  purse-strings,  the  bazar,  was  then 
a  novelty;  and  time  and  again  the 
youngsters  of  Miami  would  ransack  the 
village  for  useless  trinkets  for  which  they 
would  gaily  squander  papa's  money  that 
night  in  the  castle  of  the  maidens.  The 
presence  of  these  maidens  was  a  neces- 
sity every  time  Miami  let  loose  the  stop- 
cock of  her  oratory,  which  happened 
about  twice  a  session.  Excitement  didn't 
begin  mitil  the  demure  line  of  uncon- 
scious beauty  came  tripping  in,  esquired 
by  some  local  Brummel  with  expanded 
chest.  Sam.  Hunt  is  said  to  have  monop- 
olized this  performance  during  his  entire 
Oxford  career.  Usually  these  visits  pro- 
duced only  tremor  of  the  speaking  voice 
and  pounding  of  the  male  heart.  Once 
at  least  they  remade  a  program.  Among 
the  speakers  that  night  was  Minor  Milli- 
kin,  who  was  much  the  ladies'  man,  but 
had  unfortunately  differed  with  Doctor 

158 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

Scott  on  some  rather  important  particu- 
lars. As  the  line  filed  in,  he  saw  his 
chance  to  tie  the  score.  When  his  turn 
came  he  completely  ignored  his  an- 
nounced subject  and  prepared  address, 
launching  forth  in  a  dissertation  on  pre- 
vailing systems  of  "female  education," 
and  soundly  berating  the  particular  hob- 
bies which  the  worthy  Doctor  was  fond- 
est of  bestriding.  For  a  full  hour  he 
made  perfectly  courteous  but  all  the 
more  delicious  fun  of  college  methods,  un- 
til girls  and  bovs  alike  were  in  convul- 
sions  and  the  helpless  victim  much  in- 
censed. There  was  some  trouble  for 
awhile  in  drawing  female  attendance  at 
University  functions. 

One  of  the  rare  privileges  for  both 
sexes  arose  from  Doctor  Scott's  devotion 
to  the  sciences  and  his  consequent  ad- 
miration for  Professor  Stoddard  of  the 
University.    Every  year  the  arrangement 

159 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

was  renewed  that  an  advanced  class  of 
the  girls  should  regularly  attend  the  lec- 
tures and  experiments  in  little  old 
''Egypt,"  their  goings-in  and  comings- 
out  being  properly  directed  by  the 
Doctor  himself,  who  sat  in  rapt  at- 
tention through  the  familiar  demon- 
strations. Needless  to  say,  this  course 
was  popular  with  the  boys,  and  all 
the  pent-up  mischief  of  the  day  was 
likely  to  burst  forth  there.  Furni- 
ture would  collapse  in  the  most  imac- 
countable  manner.  Horrid  mice  would 
appear  from  nowhere  in  particular.  Once 
a  large  sheet  descended  suddenly  before 
the  class,  displaying  sentiments  none  too 
complimentary  to  the  distinguished 
guest.  The  class  of  '61  was  the  last  to 
enjoy  this  refining  privilege.  When  it 
finally  ceased,  a  Miami  poet  sang  its 
elegy,  in  tuneful  verses. 


160 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

To  the  Young  Ladies  Who  Attended  the 
Course  in  Chemistry. 

"Farewell,   farewell,    ye   lovely    friends, 
No  more  we'll  meet  you  there; 

The  sunlight  has  departed  now, 
Our   hearts    are    filled    with   care. 

"But   still  on   memory's   page  are  stamped — 
Forever   to   remain — 

Those    pleasant    meetings,    which    alas! 
No  more  we'll  have  again. 

"May  peace  and  joy  attend   your  lives, 
So   hopefully  begun; 

When    absent,   may   you    ne'er   forget 
The  Class  of  '61." 

The  real  cause  for  the  cessation  of 
these  delightful  amenities  was  the  de- 
parture of  Doctor  Scott,  who  retired  in 
1860  in  favor  of  President  Robert  D. 
Morris. 

Several  years  before  this,  the  Female 
College  had  been  called  on  to  acknowl- 
edge a  very  serious  and  ambitious  young 
rival.  It  was  only  a  potential  rival,  so 
far  as  University  hearts  were  concerned, 
for  a  fellow  doesn  't  conceive  a  very  speci- 
fic yearning  after  a  girl  he  gets  to  see 
161 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

just  once  in  a  year,  and  then  finds  her 
passing  a  public  examination  in  integral 
calculus.  But  this  new  female  institu- 
tion appealed  wonderfully  to  thoughtful 
parents  who  had  daughters  to  educate 
and  wanted  them  assisted  up  the  narrow, 
thorny  pathway  at  the  least  possible  out- 
put. Little  cared  they  if  the  sweet  seclu- 
sion of  the  cloister  palled  sometimes  upon 
the  fair  inhabitants,  and  made  even  the 
much-advised  missionar}^  career  seem  an 
attractive  vista.  There  was  satisfaction 
in  knowing  that  Miranda  Jane  and  Eliza- 
beth Ann  would  for  a  while  at  least  be 
made  to  learn  their  catechism  and  dust 
their  room  and  cease  flirtation  with  those 
shiftless  Jones  boys  from  across  the 
creek. 

In  the  summer  of  1844,  Daniel  Tenney 

had  come  to  Oxford  as  the  first  pastor  of 

the  young  Second  Presbyterian  Church, 

representing  the  New  School  branch  of 

162 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

that  denomination.  He  was  an  eastern 
man,  and  had  married  him  an  eastern 
wife,  an  enthusiastic  graduate  of  Miss 
Mary  Lyons'  famous  seminary,  Mount 
Hol^^oke.  It  was  not  long  until  these  two 
had  caught  the  educational  fever  then  so 
prevalent  in  Oxford,  and  were  all  aglow 
with  the  project  of  another  college  in  the 
community,  this  one  to  be  built  upon  the 
Mount  Holyoke  principle  and  fostered  by 
the  adherents  of  the  New  School  doc- 
trines. Rev.  Tenney  put  all  his  best 
energy  into  the  enterprise,  and  gave  no 
rest  to  church  or  individual  until  he  had 
a  fine  plot  of  land  donated  and  sufficient 
funds  subscribed  to  assure  his  pet  insti- 
tution. So  there  was  incorporated  in 
1853  the  governing  board  of  The  Western 
Female  Seminary,  virgin  daughter  of 
Mount  Holyoke,  forever  consecrated  to 
the  maternal  ideals  and  practices.  Mr. 
Tenney  resigned  his  pastorate  to  become 

163 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

president  of  the  trustees,  and  in  Septem- 
ber, 1855,  the  seminary  opened  with  one 
hundred  and  fifty  pupils.  The  faculty 
was  selected  by  Mount  Holyoke  from  her 
own  alumnae. 

Oxford  was  fast  assuming  the  airs  of 
a  first-class  university  center,  and  the 
Miami  boj^s,  at  first,  were  wildly  enthu- 
siastic. Placidly  relying  on  prospects,  a 
new  Miami  periodical,  The  Oxonian,  next 
year  set  aside  a  portion  of  its  valauble 
space  for  a  "Ladies'  Department,"  and 
guaranteed  to  its  readers  the  co-opera- 
tion of  the  fair  sex  in  numerous  literary 
offerings.  With  this  promise  came  an 
editorial  urging  that  there  be  less  separa- 
tion of  the  local  institutions  anyhow. 
"Because,"  declared  the  editor,  "The 
Miami  University,  The  Western  Female 
Seminary,  The  Oxford  Female  College, 
The  Oxford  Female  Institute,  The  The- 
ological    Seminary,     and     the     various 

164 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

schools  that  will  inevitably  cluster 
around  these,  will  constitute  for  us  a  true 
University  of  Oxford."  Alas,  for  the 
buoyant  hopes  of  sophomores!  That 
prophetic  editor  failed  to  consider  that 
the  little  vitals  of  this  young  and  blush- 
ing sister  were  inoculated  through  and 
through  with  something  called  the  Hol- 
yoke  System;  and  whatever  else  this  sys- 
tem might  or  might  not  be,  it  was  uncom- 
promising on  one  point :  boys  were — well, 
they  just  simply  were  not.    That's  all. 

Many  people  of  that  day,  patrons  as 
well  as  citizens,  were  a  trifle  hazy  as  to 
what  Rev.  Tenney  and  his  associates 
really  had  in  mind  as  the  Hol3^oke  Sys- 
tem, and  many  times  they  were  called 
upon  to  define  and  defend  their  position. 
They  put  it,  with  apparent  clearness, 
under  three  heads: 

1.  Moral  and  religious  culture  should 
be  regarded  as  paramount  to  all  things 
else. 

l65 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

2.  The  intellectual  faculties,  and  es- 
pecially the  reasoning  powers,  should  be 
most  judiciously  educated,  but  not  by  or- 
namenting the  surface  with  the  mere 
tinsel  of  accomplishment. 

3.  There  should  be  a  distinct  depart- 
ment for  the  cultivation  of  the  physical 
nature. 

This  last  item  had  a  corollary  attached 
to  it,  and  there — on  Mondays,  perhaps — 
came  the  rub.  Physical  exercise  is  good; 
very  excellent  good.  Hence,  ''to  secure 
appropriate  ph3^sical  exercise,  all  the 
members  of  the  school  will  aid  to  some 
extent  in  the  domestic  work  of  the  family. 
The  i^ortion  of  time  thus  occupied  will 
be  so  small  as  not  to  retard  their  progress 
in  study,  but  rather  facilitate  it,  by  its  in- 
vigorating influence."  Not  unwholesome 
doctrine  this,  especially  when  you  read, 
a  few  lines  farther  on,  that,  by  this  mini- 
mizing of  expenses,  the  entire  cost  of 
166 


THE     FEMALE      INSTITUTIONS 

board,  room,  and  tuition  during  a  year 
was  brought  as  low  as  $60. 

The  whole  proposition,  though,  was  a 
bit  too  strenuous  for  many  well-meaning 
folk.  They  had  been  taught  to  believe  in 
a  serious,  man-size  education  for  their 
daughters,  but  this  was  too  serious.  They 
were  glad  to  have  religion  placed  first 
before  these  girls,  and  even  to  have  them 
urged  to  consecration  in  the  mission 
fields.  But  when  they  heard  of  young 
and  unhandsome  male  missionaries,  who 
came  urging  the  faculty  to  select  them 
helpmeets  for  intended  careers  among  the 
ruzz3-wuzzies,  these  good  citizens  were 
not  so  sure.  They  wavered  some  more  on 
hearing  of  a  nice  list  of  iron-clad  rules 
of  conduct,  read  each  morning  in  chapel, 
while  rosy  culprits,  trembling  in  confes- 
sion, were  assigned  to  secluded  sittings 
on  the  front  row.  But  that  ''physical 
exercise"  scheme  was  the  strongest  test 
167 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

of  loyalty.  Those  were  the  proud  days, 
you  know,  when  mother,  faintmg  over 
the  hot  cook-stove,  protested  she  was 
bringing  up  her  girl  to  be  a  lady;  and 
father,  clinging  to  the  plow-handle, 
prayed  that  his  boy  might  not  become  a 
man  who  had  to  work.  So  there  was 
much  parley  about  the  Seminary.  It  was 
usurping  mother's  place  in  girl-life;  it 
was  training  up  refined  cooks  and  house- 
maids; it  was  sapping  the  sweetness  of 
young  womanhood.  At  this  point  even 
the  Female  College  put  in  a  lady-like 
word  or  two,  not  exactly  complimentary 
to  her  sister. 

Right  through  the  controversy  the 
Seminary  kept  on  growing.  The  build- 
ing was  always  crowded,  and  applications 
poured  in  a  year  ahead.  The  great 
family  was  ever  busy,  working  like 
beavers,  worshiping  like  saints,  playing 
like  the  school-girls  that  they  were.  One 
168 


THE     FEMALE     INSTITUTIONS 

winter  midnight  in  1860,  the  fine  new 
building  caught  fire  in  the  attic,  and 
burned  to  the  ground.  Tliose  brave  young 
girls  fought  the  destroyer  of  their  home, 
yielding  only  inch  by  inch,  and  not  a  one 
of  them  was  harmed.  A  better  building 
rose  from  the  ashes,  and  was  packed  with 
students  from  the  day  of  its  dedication. 
Diligent,  resourceful,  self-reliant,  such  a 
student  community  of  consecrated  young 
women  the  world  has  rarely  seen.  A 
colored  burglar  had  been  terrorizing  the 
village,  and  eluding  every  attempt  at 
capture.  Then  he  foolishly  tried  burglar- 
izing those  females  at  the  Seminary,  and 
the  very  first  night  they  got  him.  Men? 
Oh,  what's  the  use'?  "Most  of  the  so- 
called  men  about  us,  young  ladies,"  said 
the  principal.  Miss  Peabody,  "are  snakes; 
just  snakes."  Perhaps  the  good  lady  was 
right. 


169 


IN  man}^  respects  the  decade  of  the  50  's 
appears  to  have  been  a  sort  of  golden 
age  in  the  student  life  about  Miami. 
Good  will  and  harmony  prevailed  gen- 
erally. Corridors  and  class-rooms  were 
thronged  with  clean-limbed,  clear-com- 
plexioned  lads,  intent  on  learning  some- 
thing, but  equally  intent  on  having  a 
grand  good  time  about  it.  North  and 
south  met  together  in  the  closest  comrade- 
ship, argued  dangerous  questions  in  the 
literary  halls,  and  glanced  but  rarely  at 
the  thunder-heads  of  approaching  storm. 
Social  opportunities  were  abundant.  Any 
student  who  desired — and  many  of  them 
did — might  run  the  gamut  any  week, 
171 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


from  the  moon-striu*k  serenade  beneath 
some  precious  window  of  the  Female  Col- 
lege to  the  rollicking  barn-dances,  with 
hard  cider  sparkling  from  the  tap,  for 
which  Joe  Titus  rallied  friend  and  foe 
and  transported  them  to  his  father's 
country-place. 

Living  accommodations,  at  this  time, 
were  pretty  sorely  taxed.  Both  dormi- 
tories were  crowded,  as  was  the  little  old 
frame  cottage  since  destroyed.  Most 
popular  of  dining  tables  was  that  at  the 
Hughes  house,  just  west  of  the  campus, 
where  the  finest  cook  on  earth  vied  with 
the  most  gracious  hostess  under  heaven 
to  satisfy  that  largest  of  all  cravings,  a 
school-boy 's  appetite.  The  pies  Anne  Re- 
gan made — those  great,  deep,  flaky 
crusts,  secreting  untold  deliciousness  and 
carefully  arranged  in  a  convenient  pantry 
where  she  knew  her  boys  could  find  them 
in  the  dark — why,  those  same  pies  have 

172 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


been  the  theme  of  orator's  encomium  and 
poet's  pen.  They  have  brought  moisture 
to  the  lips  of  tortured  creatures  panting 
on  the  battle  field,  and  forced  poor  fam- 
ished wretches  in  Andersonville  to  cry 
out  in  agony. 

A  slimmer  menu,  but  as  ruddy  a  com- 
plexion and  as  good  a  time  had  those 
pinch-pursed  fellows  in  the  Old  South- 
east, who  acquired  skill  in  keeping 
Bachelor's  Hall.  Like  many  a  great  chef 
in  later  days,  these  chaps  all  had  their 
specialties.  One  was  a  shark  at  making 
coffee;  another  was  a  regular  whale  at 
corn  dodgers.  Everybody  of  course  could 
take  a  fling  at  the  festive  flapjack,  but 
Tom  Allen,  the  genius  of  them  all,  made 
perfectly  scrumptious  buckwheat  cakes, 
and  in  times  of  great  prosperity  set  them 
off  with  "papered  eggs."  He  would  show 
you  how  to  do  the  eggs,  but  nobody  was 
ever  admitted  to  the  innermost  arcanum 

173 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


of  his  buckwheats.     That  perished  with 
Tom  on  the  field  of  Spotsylvania. 

Athletic  sports  were  crude  proceed- 
ings then,  compared  with  our  modern 
system  of  elaborate  training  and  inter- 
collegiate schedules.  There  was  no  place 
for  mollycoddles  in  them  either,  and 
science  gave  way  to  brute  strength  and 
native  agility.  Impromptu  wrestling 
matches  of  a  decidedly  catch-as-catch-can 
type  were  very  much  in  vogue;  and  box- 
ing contests,  without  seconds,  ropes  or 
gloves,  were  no  rare  occurrences.  A  foot- 
ball game,  in  which  every  fellow  booted 
the  ball  when  he  wasn't  planting  a  cop- 
]3ered  toe  in  an  opponent 's  eye,  was  a  fine 
working-ofi^  of  animal  spirits.  But  the 
test  of  real,  genuine,  blue-tempered  nerve 
was  the  old  swing.  It  was  easy  enough 
when  you  got  in  practice.  Easy  as — well, 
as  falling  off  a  hickory  limb  in  nutting 
time.     But  it  looked  terrible  to  a  new 

174 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


Freshman.  It  was  one  good  rope  fastened 
to  an  iron  ring  some  thirty  feet  up  in  a 
tree.  This  rope  ended  in  a  loop,  dangling 
a  foot  or  so  from  the  ground.  Thirty  feet 
away  was  another  tree,  with  a  projecting 
branch  the  proper  distance  up.  Here  the 
performance  began.  You  skinned  up  tree 
number  two,  and  caught  the  loop,  which 
somebody  kindly  threw  you.  In  this  you 
inserted  your  foot,  and  began  to  feel 
squeamish  down  inside.  Then  with  your 
free  hand  you  seized  the  roi^e  as  far  out 
as  possible,  while  you  took  a  final  fleeting 
glimpse  of  your  past  sins.  Then  you 
swung  off,  clutching  at  the  rope  with 
your  other  hand  enroute.  At  your  age 
a  broken  bone  would  knit  in  about  six 
weeks. 

All  the  exercise  and  social  gayety  in 
creation  would  have  failed  to  give  outlet 
to  the  buoyant  spirits  of  that  seething 
mass  of  young  manhood.     Few  of  them 

175 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


were  really  bad.  True,  the  editor  of  the 
Oxonian,  a  college  periodical  at  Miami  in 
'56,  utters  a  sweeping  criticism  of  all 
western  colleges,  and  is  presumably 
drawing  upon  some  local  conditions. 
Comparing  eastern  colleges  with  western, 
he  says:  "In  the  east,  where  endowment 
and  salaries  are  secure,  discipline  may  be 
enforced.  But  at  almost  any  western  in- 
stitution a  man  may  be  an  habitual 
drunkard,  may  be  notoriously  immoral 
and  corrupting,  may  commit  penitentiary 
offenses  against  civil  law  and  unpardon- 
able ones  against  decency,  and  this  be 
well  known  by  the  faculty,  and  for  all 
that  he  may  not  only  stay  in  college,  but 
may  visit  the  Professor's  or  the  Presi- 
dent's daughter  with  impunity  and  pro- 
priety." Surely  the  amateur  editor  was 
overdoing  his  argument,  or  there  is  some 
mistake  in  the  traditions  that  have 
reached  us.  Of  course  there  were  young 
176 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


rascals  in  school  then,  as  before  and  since, 
some  of  whom  had  to  be  entirely  disposed 
of,  while  others  continued  to  be  farmed 
out  to  nice  country  ministers  as  of  old. 
But  generally,  when  the  safety-valve 
lifted  with  a  wild,  glad  shriek  of  freedom, 
the  force  behind  it  was  the  non-malicious, 
gloriously  creative  spirit  of  pure  mis- 
chief. 

Mercy  me,  the  pranks  of  college  days ! 
To  hear  the  grizzled  old  grads  when  they 
get  together,  you'd  think  that  nothing 
else  was  ever  doing  then.  Which  only 
proves  that  people  always  remember  the 
pleasant  things  of  life.  Don't  you  recall 
how  father  used  to  sit  for  hours  some- 
times and  chuckle  himself  sore  about  the 
time  Jim  Sharp — or  was  it  Bill  ? — painted 
real  stars  and  stripes  on  Prexy's  old 
brindle  cow?  And  father  himself  had  a 
hand  in  it :  he  stole  the  paint  and  brushes 
from  a  shop  up  town.  At  least  he  con- 
177 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


fessed  as  much  one  night  in  an  extra 
burst  of  confidence,  just  before  mother 
sent  you  marching  off  to  bed.  So  it  goes, 
and  so  it  will  go  with  all  of  us  as  we 
reach  our  anecdotage.  Don't  tell  us, 
please,  that  the  day  is  really  done  for  the 
wholesome,  harmless  college  prank,  with 
the  originality  of  genius  fairly  oozing  out 
of  it.  You  are  robbing  posterity  of  its 
sweetest  reminiscences. 

There  is  a  sort  of  college  pranks  which 
a  good  classical  scholar  might  call  ubiqui- 
tous. The  college  that  can't  furnish  a 
replica  of  each  and  every  one  of  them, 
has  no  excuse  to  claim  a  history.  Fancy 
a  girl's  boarding-school  where  they 
haven't  at  some  time  or  other  drawn  up 
the  good  old  president  in  a  basket,  low- 
ered for  other  and  less  sacred  purposes, 
only  to  let  him  drop  or  leave  him  hung 
in  midair  till  he  was  discovered.  Fancy 
a   boy's    preparatory    school    without    a 

178 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


stolen  bell-clapper.  Of  sucli  dear  old  con- 
ventionalities, yellow  with  the  dignity  of 
age,  Miami  has  a  rich  abundance.  Some 
of  them  are  drawn  from  their  wrappings 
only  at  commencement  gatherings  and 
passed  tenderly  about  from  one  wrinkled 
hand  to  another,  with  an  accompaniment 
of  queer  little  wheezy  chuckles.  All  of 
them  are  under  some  suspicion  since  the 
story-papers  have  blazoned  them  before 
the  whole  world  and  made  us  feel  how 
disgracefully  common  they  are. 

''Stacking"  rooms  is  perhaps  the  most 
ancient  and  natural  pastime  in  this 
group.  Any  rank  amateur  could  pei'pe- 
trate  it  and  chortle  merrily  "^N^hen  the 
owner  stood  horrified  before  his  dis- 
mantled property.  You'll  find  this  men- 
tioned in  the  earliest  records  of  the  fac- 
ulty. Only  there  it  is  called  "pernicious 
and  ungentlemanly  devastation  within 
the  college  property."  The  appropria- 
179 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


ting  of  chapel  keys  is  another  one  that 
came  early,  as  we  have  seen.  Kindly  note 
that  the  very  first  time  this  went  on  re- 
cord the  offender  was  a  prep.  It  has  ap- 
peared only  in  children's  sizes  ever  since. 
For  many  years  the  old  Miami  chapel  was 
located  on  the  first  floor, — a  fine  and 
adaptable  arrangement.  For  look  you, 
there  was  nothing  easier  on  a  bright  Sab- 
bath afternoon  than  to  drop  a  pitcher  of 
sparkling  water  on  the  gladsome  raiment 
of  the  fine  young  ladies  trailing  in  below. 
Unless  it  was,  in  the  silence  of  a  Saturday 
night  in  Spring,  to  fill  that  chapel  up  with 
fragrant  new-mown  hay  and  leave  a  vag- 
rant village  cow  peacefully  munching 
there  behind  the  pulpit. 

There  is  one  deep  mystery  about  this 
last  type  of  pranks.  Why  is  it,  brother 
mine,  that  the  lazy  ne'er-do-well,  who  in 
the  cheery  light  of  day  will  never  strike 
a  lick  at  any  useful  occupation,  is  always 

180 


A   PITCHER   OF  SPARKLING    WATF.R  ON   THE    FINK   YOUNG    LADIKS 
TRAIUNG    IN    BELOW." 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


ready  to  release  his  precious  horde  of 
energy  in  these  bits  of  midnight  devil- 
ment? The  things  that  found  their  way 
of  nights  into  that  old  place  of  prayer 
would  seem  marvelous  to  modern  eyes. 
Yet  it  is  not  so  long  since  ''Bobby" 
Bishop's  old  gray  horse,  tied  snugly  be- 
hind the  sacred  desk  in  a  newer  upstairs 
chapel,  looked  his  disgust  through  enor- 
mous leather  sjDectacles,  as  the  giggling 
lines  of  youngsters  straggled  in.  The 
thing  that  meant  real  labor,  though, — 
real  leg-weary,  back-breaking  toil — had 
to  do  with  a  wagon  and  some  wood.  Long 
years  ago,  a  young  farmer  had  come  in 
to  spend  the  night  with  relatives  in  town, 
and  brought  a  big  load  of  cord-wood  to 
dispose  of  in  the  morning.  His  horses 
were  unhitched  near  the  college  building, 
and  the  loaded  wagon  left  standing  there. 
Eestless  spirits  walked  abroad  that  night, 
and  in  the  morning  a  perfectly  dumb- 

182 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


founded  son  of  the  soil  stood  gaping  at 
his  wagon,  completely  put  together  and 
loaded  as  before,  perched  peaceably  on 
top  of  the  building,  one  hundred  feet 
above  the  ground.  This  has  a  sequel  the 
old  fellows  rarely  tell.  Every  man- jack 
of  them  was  promptly  put  to  work  re- 
storing things  to  terra  firma,  and  the 
stairs  were  full  ten  times  as  long  and 
tortuous  as  the  night  before. 

There  are  a  few  pranks,  however,  to 
which  the  little  old  college  can  read  her 
undivided  title  clear.  The  greatest  of 
these,  and  certainly  the  most  epoch- 
making,  took  place  some  time  before  the 
decade  of  the  50 's, — in  the  bronze  age, 
perhaps.  There  was  a  spirit  of  mutiny 
about  before  it  happened,  and  the  lark 
itself,  harmless  enough  in  its  first  inten- 
tion, set  this  ugi}^  spirit  working  over- 
time, with  what  proved  to  be  disastrous 
effects.       As   in    real  tragedy,  the  gods 

183 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


themselves  furnished  the  exciting  force 
to  temptation,  old  Jupiter  Pluvius  being 
most  to  blame.  The  affair  has  gone  into 
history  as  the  Snow  Rebellion. 

On  the  morning  of  the  twelfth  of  Jan- 
uary, 1848,  the  good  people  of  Oxford 
rubbed  their  sleep}^  eyes  and  looked  out 
upon  a  fine  specimen  of  snow-storm,  then 
well  under  way.  All  nature  was  already 
enveloped  in  a  great  white  blanket,  and 
still  the  snow  came  down;  immense  bil- 
lows of  it  that  shut  out  the  day  and  made 
one  think  the  very  heavens  had  opened. 
"See  the  old  woman  a-picking  her 
geese!"  yelled  one  college  boy  to  another, 
as  dormitory  windows  were  flung  wide 
for  a  better  look  at  things.  Poor  chaps! 
Before  long  that  same  old  goose  was  to 
be  cooking  for  them.  Throughout  the 
whole  day  the  snow  kept  tumbling  on  as 
if  the  supply  was  inexhaustible.  The  old- 
est inhabitants  sat  up  and  rubbed  the 

184 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


moisture  from  their  glasses,  croaking 
that  this  was  ^'cairtainly  the  peartest 
storm  they'd  seed  sence  the  year  twelve." 
The  boys  went  floundering  back  and  forth 
to  classes  through  the  great  white  drifts, 
which  were  as  wet  and  soft  and  sticky 
as  any  rogue  of  a  school-boy  could  desire. 
You  know  that  type  of  snow.  Remember 
how  it  used  to  sparkle  at  you,  and  just 
dare  you  to  fling  a  nice  hard  ball  of  it  at 
Deacon  Spriggin's  new  stove-pipe  hat? 
About  ten  o'clock  that  night  some  fel- 
lows went  downstairs,  daring  each  other 
to  a  flounder  in  the  drifts.  Somebody 
started  to  roll  a  snowball,  and  to  his  sur- 
prise soon  had  before  him  a  great  moun- 
tain of  the  stuff,  too  much  for  him  to 
move.  He  yelled  for  help  and  the  other 
fellows  came  slipping  and  puffing  to  join 
in  the  fun.  All  hands  together  they 
struggled  with  the  monster  and  slowly 
pushed  its  fast-increasing  bulk  toward 

185 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


the  unlatched  door  of  the  main  building. 
Then  whaf?  "Let's  make  a  giant  image 
of  old  Mac  and  leave  it  here  for  him  to 
see  in  the  morning, ' '  somebody  suggested. 
"Here's  one  better  than  that,"  came  a 
mocking  voice  from  the  darkness;  "let's 
block  up  all  the  doors  and  passages  in 
here,  and  there'll  have  to  be  a  holiday  to- 
morrow." Some  people  have  maintained 
to  this  day  that  here  was  no  utterance  of 
earth,  but  that  the  accursed  Fiend  him- 
self spake  words  of  infernal  temptation 
to  those  attentive  ears. 

However  that  may  be,  there  was  no 
parleying  with  conscience.  A  hurry  call 
went  out  in  all  directions,  and  the  re- 
serves came  plowing  through  the  path- 
less campus  with  fire  in  their  eyes.  All 
night  long  they  grunted  and  perspired, 
fairly  swarming  about  the  fine  soft 
masses  of  stickiness  that  were  to  seal  for 
them  the  passage  ways  to  another  kind 

186 


"OnK    UV    ONK  THK    doors    AM)   ( oliRI  iXlUS  \V1  KK  <  1  OSl' I)  WITH 
GREAT    Wlirn     IIA^(•0(■KS." 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


of  labor.  This  wasn't  labor  anyhow;  it 
was  the  greatest  sport  of  the  ages!  One 
b_y  one  the  doors  and  corridors  were 
closed  with  great  white  haycocks,  a  few 
over-particular  Juniors  having  seen  to  it 
that  each  lock  was  securely  spiked  before 
the  barricade  was  placed.  Just  for  va- 
riety the  job  was  ornamented,  when 
complete,  with  slabs  of  cord-wood, 
planks,  broken  benches,  and  a  few  stray 
bits  of  scrap  iron;  and  the  conspirators 
slunk  to  their  rooms  as  the  first  light  was 
breaking,  to  toast  their  soaked  and  aching 
shins  and  speculate  on  what  would  hap- 
pen next.  The  air  had  chilled  perceptibly 
toward  morning  and  the  stars  had  come 
blinking  out;  and  now  the  sun  rose  radi- 
ant on  a  crisp  and  dazzling  winter  day. 
The  campus  was  a  labyrinth  of  tracks  in 
the  frozen  slush,  and  old  Miami  stood  in 
the  midst  of  it,  a  castle  sealed  and  barred 
against  intruders. 

189 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


Not  much  happened  that  first  day. 
Professor  Stoddard  took  one  good  look 
at  things,  and  went  sniffing  away  to  his 
little  laboratory,  which  nobody  had 
thought  to  barricade.  Young  Bobby 
Bishop  walked  squarely  into  the  snow- 
drift at  his  class-room  door,  before  he 
noticed  anything  wrong.  Doctor  Mac- 
Master  was  in  bed  with  a  heavy  cold. 
Toward  noon  one  or  two  servants  ap- 
peared with  picks  and  shovels,  and  went 
to  pecking  away  at  the  mass  in  the  halls, 
but  hardly  made  a  visible  impression  on 
it.  It  took  the  boys  less  than  fifteen  min- 
utes to  repair  their  defenses  that  night, 
so  they  had  most  of  their  time  for  decora- 
tive effects.  Free-will  offerings  of  dis- 
carded furniture  poured  in  prodigally, 
crates  and  boxes  found  their  way  from 
up-town,  an  old  stove  was  located  some- 
where about  the  premises.  Really  it  was 
no  trick  at  all  to  produce  a  deckle-edge 
190 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


finish  to  those  snow-heaps  that  was  ar- 
tistic in  the  extreme.  Then  somebody 
mounted  the  roof  and  carried  off  the  big 
bell,  and  the  job  was  pronounced  com- 
plete. 

A  large  part  of  the  second  night  was 
consumed  in  caucus,  for  something 
seemed  to  tell  these  midnight  prowlers 
that  there  was  trouble  ahead.  They  took 
a  principle  from  MacMaster's  favorite 
text-book,  Wayland's  Ethics,  and  warped 
it  somehow  so  as  to  read  out  of  it  an  ap- 
parent justification  of  their  proposed 
line  of  conduct.  Their  plan  was  to  con- 
fess their  guilt  openly  and  even  submit 
a  complete  list  of  those  concerned,  but 
in  no  case  to  express  regret  for  what  had 
passed  or  give  promise  of  good  conduct 
in  the  future.  Under-classmen  were 
drilled  thoroughly  in  the  parts  they  were 
to  play,  and  then  the  weary  company 
crawled  into  bed.  There  was  no  neces- 
191 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


sity  for  early  rising.  Indeed,  it  was  the 
morning  of  Saturday,  the  15th,  before 
Doctor  MacMaster  was  on  his  feet  again 
and  things  began  to  take  their  old  shape 
around  the  campus.  All  that  day  the 
faculty  was  in  session  on  the  case,  as  well 
as  the  afternoons  of  Monday,  Tuesday, 
Wednesday  and  Thursday  in  the  week 
following.  Indeed  there  were  frequent 
echoes  of  the  thing  during  the  whole  term. 
Strictly  according  to  program  the  pro- 
ceedings dragged  out,  always  with  a  re- 
markable similarity.  Outside  there  was 
always  a  group  of  excited  boys,  giving  a 
rousing  send-off  to  each  fresh  witness, 
and  tearing  the  released  one  almost  limb 
from  limb  in  their  eagerness  for  new  in- 
formation. But  it  was  all  the  same. 
Milt.  Sayler,  Will  Cumback,  John  Noble, 
Dav}^  McDill,  one  after  the  other  they 
took  the  stand,  cheerfully  confessed  par- 
ticipation in  the  ceremonies,  and  just  as 
192 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


cheerfully  refused  to  express  the  desired 
contrition  and  promise  of  a  better  life. 
A  less  regenerate  bunch  of  heathen  never 
assembled  before  a  horrified  college  fac- 
ulty. One  after  the  other  they  were 
solemnly  admonished  regarding  their 
duties  to  society,  and  given  a  period  of 
respite  to  reflect  upon  their  scandalous 
behavior.  Many  returned  later  to  ex- 
press repentance  and  be  reinstated.  A 
clique  of  the  most  stubborn  ones  stamped 
the  slush  of  Oxford  from  their  feet  and 
made  tracks  for  Centre  College  in  Ken- 
tucky, where  somehow  they  got  admitted. 
A  third  group,  dissatisfied  with  condi- 
tions generally,  stayed  the  year  out  to 
re-establish  a  reputation  for  good  be- 
havior, and  then  wandered  elsewhere  to 
complete  their  courses.  Among  other  ef- 
fects of  the  escapade,  the  two  Greek 
fraternities  hung  their  harps  on  a  willow, 
and  the  scholarly  president  gave  up  all 
193 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


hope  of  winning  the  affections  of  the  "uni- 
versity community. 

Some  of  you  may  have  heard  of  the 
Hopkins  mytli.  It  grew  up  in  the  early 
50 's,  created  by  some  vivid  student  im- 
aginations, assisted  by  a  consuming  and 
unholy  thirst.  Some  of  the  boys  in  one 
of  the  dormitories — no  matter  which — 
had  run  across  the  recipe  for  a  particu- 
larly fancy  milk-punch;  and  when  they 
could  muster  the  price  of  the  ingredients, 
indulged  themselves  in  orgies  that  meant 
thick  heads  and  parched  palates  on  the 
morrow.  At  the  edge  of  tow^n  lived  a 
kindly  and  gullible  old  farmer  who  kept 
a  sort  of  dairy  and  had  quantities  of  good 
rich  milk.  One  dsiy  when  funds  were  low 
the  boys  approached  him  with  the  har- 
rowing story  of  a  supposed  youth  named 
Hopkins,  sick  unto  death  in  the  college 
building.  He  could  take  no  solid  food, 
they  said,  Init  his  very  life  depended  on 
194 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


his  getting  plenty  of  nice  fresli  milk 
every  day.  It  was  told  so  well  that  they 
almost  believed  it  themselves,  and  the  old 
gentleman  was  moved  to  tears  of  pity. 
He  offered  to  snpply  all  the  milk  needed 
day  by  day,  and  not  charge  them  a  red 
cent. 

Thus  encouraged,  the  fame  of  those 
milk-punches  spread  far  and  wide,  and 
Hopkins  was  fast  becoming  the  most 
popular  man  in  college.  Then  President 
Anderson  heard  of  it,  and  immediately 
prepared  one  of  his  characteristic  flank 
movements.  Next  morning  in  chapel,  he 
spoke  at  some  length  on  prevailing  here- 
sies in  the  church,  leading  up  carefully 
to  the  particular  opinions  of  the  Rev. 
Hopkins,  a  leader  in  these  controversies 
not  long  before.  At  the  end  of  a  burst 
of  real  eloquence  he  paused,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  and  looking  straight 
at  the  bibulous  culprits,  said  quietly: 
195 


HISTORIC      PRANKS 


"But,  young  gentlemen,  I  want  you  all 
to  understand  that  Hopkins  is  now  dead 
and  has  no  further  need  of  fresh  milk." 
There  was  but  one  more  public  reference 
to  the  case,  and  that  vumecessary.  At  the 
first  roll-call  next  year,  the  students  were 
listening  intently  to  the  new  names. 
"Hopkins!"  pronounced  the  president, 
and  a  roar  went  up  from  the  old-timers. 
The  doctor  twinkled  again  and  remarked, 
"This,  gentlemen,  is  a  veritable  Hopkins; 
this  is  no  myth." 

In  many  colleges  there  used  to  be  the 
custom  of  paying  in  public  the  last  sad  re- 
spects to  some  particularly  gruelling 
text-book.  At  Miami  this  practice  be- 
came a  solemn  tradition,  the  book  se- 
lected being  that  time-honored  enemy  of 
self-righteous  Juniors,  the  Logic.  Year 
after  year,  when  the  syllogisms  were  all 
built  and  the  fallacies  detected,  a  group 
of  free-hearted  veterans  kindled  a  mid- 
196 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


night  fire,  and  chncked  therein,  with  a 
few  brief  but  sulphurous  words,  the  vol- 
umes they  had  thumbed  so  long  and 
learnedly.  Of  all  these  annual  mortuary 
rites,  the  ceremony  conducted  by  the 
class  of  '56  has  always  been  pronounced 
the  most  impressive.  Perhaps  because, 
as  the  country  papers  say,  "the  very 
heavens  poured  a  flood  of  tears  on  the 
bier  of  the  dear  departed."  People  al- 
ways expected  things  worth  while  of  '56, 
anyway.  When  Al.  Berry  and  Curran 
and  Joe  Fullerton  and  Reid  put  their 
heads  together  and  got  their  shoulders  to 
the  same  wheel,  there  had  better  be  a 
clear  track  ahead. 

According  to  accounts  this  "Crema- 
tion of  the  Logic"  was  fully  up  to  all  ex- 
pectations. Several  of  the  old  black- 
letter  programs  are  still  floating  about, 
containing  even  the  words  of  the  funeral 
hymns,  and  the  arrangement  of  the  sad 
197 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


procession.  If  you  just  inquire,  there  are 
ever  so  many  people  who  still  remember 
the  occasion  with  some  emotion. 
Promptly  at  midnight  the  procession  sal- 
lied forth,  with  the  Oxford  brass  band 
executing  something  that  the  tune-book 
called  a  dirge.  Next  came  the  strutting 
figure  of  the  marshal  of  the  night,  the 
giant  young  Kentucky  Colonel,  closely  at- 
tended b}^  four  sheeted  spectres,  labeled 
'* Ghosts  of  Aristotle  and  Others,"  to 
satisfy  the  curiosit.y  of  the  common  herd. 
Following  the  corpse  walked  our  old 
friend  Barbara  Celarent,  weeping  as  be- 
came a  chief  mourner,  and  attended  in 
her  grief  by  the  Rev.  Die  Tum.  Then 
came  in  order  two  familiar  connections  of 
the  deceased:  the  Dilemma,  waving  great 
paper  horns  some  four  feet  long;  and  the 
Undistributed  Middle,  stuffed  out  with 
pillows  till  he  could  scarcely  waddle. 
A  group  of    grotesque    witches    ca- 

198 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


vorted  in  sunbonnet  and  wrapper  at  the 
rear  of  the  cortege,  and  last  of  all  limped 
the  poor  old  "Beggar  of  the  Question, " 
grinning  behind  woolen  whiskers  and  ex- 
tending a  battered  hat  to  one  side  and 
the  other.  Eain  came  down  in  torrents 
before  the  parade  was  half  over;  and 
mourners,  pall-bearers  and  all  broke  into 
a  grand  scramble  for  the  village  market 
house.  Half-drowned  spectators  flocked 
in  from  all  sides,  despite  the  hour,  and 
the  services  proceeded.  All  the  Logic 
family  was  represented  in  the  program. 
A.  M.  B.  Guity  read  an  appropriate  poem, 
and  N.  Thymeme  had  written  this  touch- 
ing song,  which  they  all  chanted  in 
chorus,  as  the  destroying  flames  got  in 
their  work. 


"His  greasy  corpus  we   will  burn, 
And   gather   up  his  ashes  vile; 
No   sepulcher    or   storied   urn 
Their  baseness   shall   defile. 


199 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


"But  in   Death's  dismal  palace   he 
Shall   not  remain,   for,  sad   to  tell. 
His    death   is    but    a    Fallacy, 
As    Sophs    will    know    too   well. 

"Then  join   the   song,    forget    his    tricks, 
No   longer   he    shall   cram   us: 
Joy  to   the   class    of   '56, 
Vale  et  Gaudeamus." 

There  was  an  affecting  sermon  by 
Eev.  Die  Turn  and  an  incantation  by  the 
witches;  then  the  formal  exercises  con- 
cluded with  a  malediction,  and  the 
Juniors  suddenly  realized  that  they  were 
tired  and  wet  and  hungry  and  morning 
prayers  were  distressingly  near. 

After  an  affair  like  that,  old  Logic 
never  could  hope  to  be  incinerated  with 
doings  that  were  anything  but  vile  imi- 
tation, the  very  scum  of  the  earth. 
Naturally  the  tradition  soon  died  out. 
But  not  so  the  love  of  masquerading  in 
burlesque  procession;  that  la}^  too  close 
to  the  hearts  of  men,  a  reminder  perhaps 
of  their  childhood  joy  in  make-believe. 
Perhaps  too,  as  the  war-clouds  gathered, 

200 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


it  was  a  pleasant  thing  to  lose  sight  at 
times  of  the  realities  and  merge  one's 
self  in  the  dancing,  empty-pated  harle- 
quin. At  any  rate  these  big  Miami  boys 
never  lost  a  chance  to  play  the  clown  and 
go  parading.  One  fall  Salmon  P.  Chase 
was  elected  governor  of  Ohio:  everybody 
turned  out  for  a  triumphal  procession. 
Had  he  been  defeated,  they  would  prob- 
ably all  have  been  on  hand,  just  as  cheer- 
ful, and  have  called  it  a  consolation  jubi- 
lee. 

Finally,  about  war-time,  they  cen- 
tered their  energies  on  Washington's 
Birthday — George  Day,  as  they  called  it 
— and  the  screaming  of  the  eagle  echoed 
from  high  heaven.  There  was  of  course 
a  program,  late  in  the  evening;  but  no- 
body gave  much  thought  to  that,  except 
the  speakers,  who  had  to  save  their 
voices.  The  real  simon-pure  unbottled 
patriotism  found  expression  in  another 

201 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


of  those  fantastic  parades,  which  went 
straggling  about  through  skish  or  storm, 
brandishing  smok}^  torches  and  howling 
itself  hoarse  for  the  sheer  joy  of  living. 
These  were  usually  anxious  periods  for 
the  faculty  however.  Drink  flowed  all 
too  freely  on  such  nights  of  revelry,  and 
blood  coursed  hot.  Somebody  was  al- 
ways 3^earning  for  a  fight,  and  there  were 
those  who  would  do  anj^thing  to  relieve 
a  friend.  The  23rd  of  February  was 
marked  with  red  in  every  professor's  al- 
manac as  police-court  day,  and  the  official 
firing  squad  did  practice  in  the  rifle  range 
for  weeks  ahead.  The  dove  of  peace 
bluntly  refused  to  flutter  about  George 
Day  till  a  firm  quietus  was  put  forever 
upon  the  jolly  old  masked  procession. 
Nowada3^s  we  sometimes  have  polite  little 
robe  de  nuit  soirees,  culminating  in  fudge 
parties. 


202 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


Goodness  knows,  it  was  hard  enough 
to  keep  peace  in  the  family,  when  every 
mail  brought  fresh  news  of  deadly  car- 
nage, and  the  big  brothers  were  all 
clutching  smoky  rifles  down  south  of  the 
line.  Somebody  just  had  to  break  loose 
occasionally  or  strangle  on  his  own  emo- 
tions. Think  of  calmly  demonstrating 
that  all  A's  are  B's,  or  dreaming  lan- 
guidly amid  the  fumes  of  Horace's  rich 
old  Falernian,  when  the  red  wine  of 
youth  was  staining  the  rank  meadows  of 
Virginia.  And  Greek! — Ye  temples  of 
Olympian  Zeus,  who  wouldn't  have  re- 
belled against  that  ancient  atrocity,  when 
the  reek  of  precious  human  hecatombs 
was  saluting  the  nostrils  of  the  God  of 
Battles!  So,  in  the  absence  of  anything 
else  to  quarrel  over,  in  November,  '64, 
the  Seniors  mutinied  against  Greek. 
They  had  no  grudge  against  the  profes- 
sor.   Neither  did  they  lack  ability  in  the 

203 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


subject.  They  had  discovered  somehow 
that  previous  classes  had  not  carried  the 
study  beyond  this  point  in  their  college 
career.  This  must  mean  a  faculty  con- 
spiracy to  trample  on  their  precious  toot- 
sies; and  the  spirit  of  the  hour,  especi- 
ally among  college  Seniors,  was  simple 
and  emphatic:  "Don't  tread  on  me!" 

So  one  day,  when  the  bell  struck,  the 
Senior  Greek  class  did  not  appear;  but 
the  professor  found  on  his  desk  an  ex- 
tremely courteous  note  of  farewell,  in- 
forming him  that  they  had  passed  the 
limit  traditionally  established  for  the 
subject,  they  did  not  see  that  further 
study  in  it  would  profit  them  for  the  time 
required,  and  they  had  the  honor  to  wish 
him  much  happiness,  etc.  Then  the  fac- 
ulty went  all  askew  again.  First  the  cul- 
prits were  admonished  in  the  usual 
solemn  and  affectionate  manner.  One 
trembling  lamb   came  bleating  into  the 

204 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


fold.  Then  an  ultimatum  was  published 
and  three  men  dismissed.  Then  the  fac- 
ulty divided  on  the  whole  question,  and 
the  students  were  quick  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  cleavage.  Threats  of  a  whole- 
sale boycott  floated  about  the  campus  till 
the  faculty  went  on  its  mettle  again,  put 
the  loudest  talkers  on  probation,  and  in- 
formed them  that  the}^  might  promptly 
depart  in  peace,  if  they  cared  to  travel 
under  such  a  cloud.  Then  the  reaction 
came,  everybody  felt  a  little  sorry  and  a 
bit  ashamed,  and  the  Greek  Rebellion 
ended  in  a  bloodless  compromise. 

So  much  for  the  pranks  and  disturb- 
ances of  early  days.  Every  college  in 
every  era  has  its  share  of  these  little  tea- 
pot tempests,  all-absorbing  till  their  one 
brief  hour  is  struck,  and  then  tame 
enough  forever  in  the  ears  of  disinter- 
ested listeners.  The  next  generation, 
wrapped  in  its  own  concerns,  passes  these 

205 


HISTORIC     PRANKS 


shabby  old  relics  sometimes  in  scorn. 
Younger  graduates,  conscious  of  later  es- 
capades, strut  about  beneath  the  trees  at 
commencement  time,  rub  their  alder- 
manic  fronts,  and  retail  reminiscences 
unmellowed  by  the  touch  of  time.  But 
listen !  Do  you  hear  the  quavering  cackle 
from  that  comfortable  bench  among  the 
maples  ?  There  are  '49  and  '53,  pounding 
their  canes  upon  the  sod,  and  laughing 
like  school-boys  at  one  of  Doctor  Ander- 
son's retorts,  or  the  story  of  Professor 
Elliott's  absent-minded  apologies  to  the 
cow.  You  needn't  talk  to  them  about 
the  pranks  of  these  degenerate  days,  with 
their  luxuries  and  flubdubs.  For  them 
the  real  golden  age  is  far  behind  us,  never 
to  be  enjoyed  again. 


206 


w^m.\\\ 


THE  musty  old  record-book  of  the 
Miami  faculty  is  tame  enough  read- 
ing for  the  opening  of  1861.  A  few  ex- 
aminations passed,  about  as  many  fatally 
attempted,  an  occasional  "drawback"  or 
a  reprimand : — all  transcribed  in  the  awk- 
ward, wabbly  handwriting  of  Professor 
David  Swing,  at  that  time  secretary  of 
the  learned  circle.  Then  all  at  once  God's 
lightning  flashes  in  the  clear  sky.  The 
young  teacher  has  been  rudely  awakened 
from  his  academic  dreams;  and  in  the 
margin  of  his  journal  he  has  scrawled, 
in  great  bold  characters,  with  three 
bristling  exclamation-points,  the  one  por- 
tentous word  "War!!!"  Opposite,  un- 
der date  of  May  25,  1861,  appears  the  re- 

207 


WAR 

cord:  "In  view  of  tlie  fact  that  the  fol- 
lowing members  of  the  Senior  Class  were 
now  enlisted  in  the  service  of  their  Coun- 
try, and  were  of  good  standing  as  schol- 
ars, the}^  were  excused  from  the  final  ex- 
amination, but  are  included  among  those 
recommended  for  graduation."  There 
follows  a  list  of  fifteen  names,  out  of  a 
total  Senior  enrollment  of  thirty-five. 

Only  the  day  before  this  record,  the 
last  strenuous  tests  of  scholarship  had 
been  applied.  The  final  social  rites  had 
been  performed,  in  a  perfect  orgy  of  tight 
boots,  ornate  cravats  and  puckery  lemon- 
ade. But  only  a  fraction  of  the  class  had 
been  on  hand,  to  revel  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  duties  done,  and  share  the  cakes 
and  ale  of  jubilation.  In  the  muddy 
camp  at  Zanesville,  or  somewhere  along 
the  muddier  highway  across  the  West 
Virginia  line,  their  comrades,  shorn  of 
scholastic  glories,  were  negotiating  moist 

208 


WAR 

ground  with  thin  blankets,  and  practicing 
the  everlasting  "hep,  hep,  hep!"  that 
promised  some  day  to  lead  them  to  heroic 
carnage.  Even  amid  the  buzz  of  conver- 
sation and  the  rustle  of  silken  petticoats 
that  night  at  the  Senior  party,  there  was 
heard  at  times  the  clank  of  metal  and 
hoarse  words  of  sharp  command,  as  a  raw 
troop  of  reserves  went  drilling  by. 
Doctor  Scott  and  his  girls,  as  they  jour- 
neyed home  beneath  the  stars,  were  twice 
halted  by  the  nervous  young  sentries  of  a 
city  of  white  tents  along  their  way.  Vast 
changes  had  come  upon  serene  little  Ox- 
ford on  her  academic  hill.  Whether  she 
would  or  not,  echoes  of  the  mad  turmoil 
in  the  big  world  below  forced  themselves 
upon  her  senses,  and  the  great  God  of 
Battles  was  calling  for  her  best  young 
blood  to  mingle  in  his  sacrifice. 

These  changes  had  come  abruptly,  but 
to  only  the  utterly    thoughtless    or    the 

209 


WAR 

fondly  optimistic  had  tliey  been  unex- 
pected. Slavery  and  state's  riglits  had 
been  agitated  for  generations,  and  far- 
seeing  public  men  had  looked  into  the 
future  and  shuddered.  Old  Miami,  so 
near  the  border-line  and  gathering  stu- 
dents freely  from  north  and  south  alike, 
had  been  able  to  remain  delightfully  neu- 
tral, but  not  ignorant.  The  abolition 
movement,  we  have  seen,  had  deposed 
one  college  president  and  brought  in 
another.  The  abolition  question,  we  have 
likewise  seen,  gave  Gid.  McNutt  one 
spectacular  chance  to  swell  his  chest  be- 
fore his  erstwhile  brothers  in  the  bond. 
In  the  class-room  and  literary  hall,  how- 
ever, such  topics  were  rather  zealously 
suppressed.  One  day  in  the  30 's,  even, 
when  a  bright  youth  of  apocalyptic  vision 
relieved  himself  of  an  essay  predicting 
that  out  of  these  contentions  would  grow 
a  civil  war  terrij^le  in  its  possibilities  for 
suffering,  old  Doctor  Bishop  had  mildly 

210 


WAR 

reprimanded  the  author  and  taken 
prompt  possession  of  his  Sibylline  manu- 
script to  destroy  it. 

In  1847,  when  the  abolition  tide  was 
rolling  high,  there  had  almost  been  one 
open  outbreak.  Oxford  preachers  knew 
better  than  to  say  much  on  the  subject 
or  to  invite  reputed  fire-eaters  to  speak 
in  their  stead.  At  length  a  certain  rather 
famous  adherent  of  the  cause  got  his 
chance,  under  promise  to  make  no  refer- 
ence whatever  to  slavery.  All  the  stu- 
dents attended,  from  north  and  south,  to 
have  a  look  at  the  celebrity.  The  visitor 
arose  and  announced  that  he  was  un- 
decided in  his  conscience  whether  to  obey 
God  or  man.  He  told  quickly  of 
his  promise  and  then  began  to  pray. 
Evidently  conscience  soon  decided  for 
him,  for  the  prayer  deflected  into 
a  series  of  terrible  imprecations 
called  down  upon  the  heads  of  southern- 

211 


W  A  R 

ers  in  general  and  slave-holders  in  partic- 
nlar.  There  was  much  uneasiness  and 
shuffling  throughout;  and  promptly  at 
the  Amen  every  southern  student  in  the 
congregation  arose  and  marched  haught- 
ily for  the  door.  The  minister,  brandish- 
ing his  Bible,  shrilly  reminded  them  that 
the  wicked  have  a  habit  of  fleeing  when 
no  man  pursueth.  At  this  the  end  of  the 
procession  paused  in  the  doorway,  and 
responded  eloquently  in  lurid  words  that 
made  fond  mothers  stop  their  children's 
ears.  The  meeting,  of  course,  broke  up 
in  wild  confusion. 

As  the  real  crisis  came  nearer,  the 
dangerous  topic  was  still  more  studiously 
avoided.  That  decade  before  the  con- 
flict embraced  some  splendid  years  of  ex- 
perience and  achievement.  Long  before 
their  close,  however,  the  spirit  of  dissen- 
sion stalked  frequently  abroad.  Quarrels 
and  disturbance  were  the  order  of  the  day 

212 


WAR 

— and  night,  and  nearly  always  they  con- 
cluded in  a  fracas,  sometimes  with  mur- 
derous weapons.  One  student  was  killed 
in  a  tavern  brawl  of  this  kind.  Others 
merely  had  their  feelings  or  their  fea- 
tures disarranged,  and  furnished  occupa- 
tion for  the  faculty.  Incidentally  the 
*' Female  Institutions"  got  their  share  of 
attention  in  these  escapades. 

Apparently  the  most  frequent  victim 
of  this  spirit  of  unrest,  and  certainly  the 
most  hopeless,  helpless  of  them  all,  was 
an  inoffensive  little  product  of  some 
Rheinische  Turnverein,  Roemler  by 
name,  who  had  been  brought  in  to  direct 
the  destinies  of  the  new  gymnasium  so 
pompously  instituted  by  the  trustees. 
The  "gym"  wasn't  much  to  look  at.  It 
was  somebody's  cast-off  barn,  with  a  few 
dumb-bells  hung  on  the  harness-pegs  and 
a  trapeze  or  two  suspended  from  the  hay- 
mow.   Roemler  wasn't  much  to  look  at, 

213 


WAR 

either.  He  had  very  little  English  at  his 
eorximand  and  still  less  of  knowledge  re- 
garding that  almost  hnman  animal,  the 
American  boy.  True,  he  could  turn  all 
sorts  of  handsprings  and  whirligigs,  and 
led  the  perspiring  line  through  strange 
evolutions  with  his  "Forwartz  martz!" — 
"Laags  steef !"  But  who  cares  for  such 
mimic  marching  when  any  breeze  from 
the  southland  may  bring  you  real  mili- 
tary strains  ?  So  they  teased  poor  Roem- 
ler  unmercifully,  drove  him  into  nasty 
spurts  of  temper,  and  brought  his  sanc- 
tum into  such  disapproval  that  "Physi- 
cal Education"  was  quietl^y  but  firmly 
discontinued.  Almost  as  the  exercises 
and  evolutions  of  peace  went  out,  those 
of  grim  and  serious  strife  came  in. 

"The  South  has  fired  upon  the  flag!" 
"Fort  Sumter  has  been  taken!"  "The 
President  has  called  for  seventy-five 
thousand  troops!"    So  fast  did  these  an- 

214 


WAR 

nouncements  pour  into  the  village  that 
students  and  townspeople  paled  and 
trembled  under  the  shock,  and  groped 
vainly  for  a  moment  in  their  attempt  to 
realize.  When  the  blood  surged  back  to 
the  surface,  they  understood  and  were 
ready.  Lads  of  the  North,  to  whom  this 
agitation  had  always  seemed  a  mere  dem- 
agogue's  extravagance,  burned  now  to 
avenge  the  insult  to  their  country  and 
her  colors.  The  imaginary  patriotism  of 
a  thousand  Exhibition  speeches  welled 
into  actual  being  in  an  instant.  Stalwart 
sons  of  the  South,  who  loved  the  whole 
broad  land  of  freedom  and  had  learned 
the  spirit  of  the  northland,  gathered  in 
groups  apart — not  shunned,  but  re- 
spected— and  there,  in  hushed  tones,  dis- 
cussed their  one  possible  method  of  pro- 
cedure. 

Only  the  colleges  of  the  borderland 
witnessed  such  a  scene  as  followed  on 

215 


WAR 

the  morrow.  The  whole  student  commu- 
nity assembled  at  the  station,  as  the  time 
approached  for  the  train  to  Cincinnati. 
All  the  usual  signs  of  abundant  life  and 
high  spirits  were  wanting.  Every  man 
stood  tense  and  silent,  and  a  few  white 
cheeks  gave  signs  of  tears.  The  parting 
and  the  heart-ache  of  war  were  very  new 
just  then.  Down  the  street  came  the 
Southern  fellows,  with  heads  erect  and 
the  gleam  of  consecrated  purpose  in  their 
eyes.  Some  of  them,  within  two  months 
past,  had  poured  out  their  very  souls  in 
public  homage  to  the  dear  old  striped 
flag,  the  banner  of  a  united  country. 
Some  of  those  hearts  were  full  to  break- 
ing now  with  the  anguish  of  this  separa- 
tion. But  home  and  kindred  had  decided 
for  them  and  they  never  wavered.  There 
was  no  demonstration  to  the  scene.  Some 
choking  words  were  spoken:  hands 
clasped  in   a   last    pressure    across    this 

216 


WAR 

strange  new  gulf  of  war.  Here  and  there 
an  arm  sought  some  broad  manly  shoul- 
der, and  lingered  there  m  silent  farewell. 
Then  the  train  came  puffing  in,  and  com- 
rades from  the  North  and  South  severed 
their  acquaintance  forever.  No,  not  in 
every  case  forever.  They  met  sometimes, 
all  shrouded  in  the  smoke  of  battle,  sworn 
enemies  in  hostile  lines,  and  then  they 
felt  anew  the  falseness  and  the  horror  of 
it  all. 

There  were  lively  times  in  Oxford  for 
the  next  few  days.  Every  fellow  around 
the  campus  was  getting  ready  to  go  to 
war.  They  recognized  no  age  limit  nor 
any  other  obstacle.  Lessons  they  calmly 
ignored,  at  least  so  far  as  the  ever-dili- 
gent faculty  would  permit.  Recruiting 
began  at  once  for  a  college  company,  the 
University  Rifles,  and  the  crowd  fairly 
fought  for  the  privilege  to  sign  up.  By 
nightfall  of  the  first  day  there  was  a  wait- 

217 


WAR 

ing-list,  and  word  was  sent  to  Columbus 
that  the  country  was  saved.  Then  came 
a  few  nerve-racking  days  of  suspense, 
awaiting  marching-orders.  You  know 
what  that  might  mean  in  a  student  crowd. 
They  didn't  get  afraid  or  indifferent. 
Bless  you,  no!  They  just  took  a  sober 
second  thought  that  the  projected  scheme 
was  not  a  primrose  path  of  dalliance,  and 
that  there  were  hosts  of  important  duties 
demanding  their  immediate  attention 
right  at  home.  Not  many  of  the  volun- 
teers would  have  backed  down  even  then, 
if  the  mail  service  from  the  home  folks 
hadn't  gone  into  active  operation.  Of 
course  the  authorities  stubbornly  insisted 
that  these  militant  youngsters  should 
have  parental  consent. 

It  was  soon  evident  that  the  Univer- 
sity Rifles  must  use  village  talent  to  make 
up  their  quota.  Here  recruiting  was  al- 
most as  easy,  and  all  the  way  to  the  capi- 

218 


WAR 

tal  volunteers  and  camp-followers  swelled 
the  company  beyond  the  legal  limit. 
Choice  of  a  captain  was  soon  made.  Only 
one  fellow  of  them  all  had  ever  juggled 
a  musket  in  regulation  way,  and  he  was 
a  Senior,  Ozro  J.  Dodds,  who  had  been 
under  Lew  Wallace  in  an  Indiana  mili- 
tary school.  Dodds  didn't  remember 
much  of  his  manual  except  the  marching, 
but  the  way  he  kept  those  poor  perspir- 
ing rookies  scratching  holes  in  University 
greensward  would  have  rejoiced  any  pa- 
triot. The  minor  offices  didn't  matter 
much:  at  best  they  were  painfully  few. 
Why,  there  were  not  nearly  enough  to  go 
around,  even  when  the  captain  insisted 
on  three  lieutenants,  as  there  had  been  at 
Crawfordsville. 

Finally  the  company  was  ready  for 
departure.  You  know  what  always  hap- 
pened on  such  occasions.  Maybe  you 
have  seen  it  yourself,  or  you  are  sure  to 

219 


W  A  R 

have  read  the  conventional  account  some- 
where. The  concourse  of  admiring  and 
iViMch  bestarched  maidens,  all  sweet  and 
teary  'round  the  lashes.  The  rather  awk- 
ward file  of  heroes,  sheepishly  trying  to 
appear  unconscious  of  the  furore  they 
were  making.  The  home-made  silk  ban- 
ner, presented  with  an  address  and  a 
benediction  by  some  good  old  minister, 
this  time  impersonated  by  Doctor  Hall, 
of  the  University.  The  kindly  mothers 
in  Israel,  pressing  testaments  into  the 
hands  of  the  young  soldiers,  and  the  well- 
to-do  citizens  with  their  little  offerings 
of  poctet-money.  The  martial  music  and 
the  cheers,  the  blessings  and  the  hand- 
shakes, and  then  the  "chug-chug"  of  the 
locomotive  drawing  the  human  freight 
away  to — God  knows  what  or  where. 
Perhaps  now  we  can  find  some  humor  in 
such  an  episode;  can  smile  blandly  at  the 


220 


WAR 

homely  earnestness  of  the  participants. 
Then  it  was  only  a  pitiable  reality. 

The  Rifles,  as  such,  achieved  no  great 
distinction.  At  Columbus  ruthless  offi- 
cials went  through  the  ranks,  and  brought 
them  within  bounds  by  sending  home 
those  freshest  from  the  cradle-roll.  This 
was  a  dark  hour  for  young  Cal.  Brice, 
who  had  put  more  enthusiasm  into  this 
brief  military  career  than  he  ever  did 
later  into  a  senatorial  campaign.  But 
"the  atrocious  crime  of  being  a  young 
man"  was  this  time  beyond  pardon,  and 
the  youth  was  promptly  billed  for  Ox- 
ford, his  red  hair  bristling  with  disgust 
and-  an  occasional  big  tear  winding  its 
way  through  his  wilderness  of  freckles. 
In  a  few  days  the  troop  was  rechristened 
as  Company  B  of  the  20th  Ohio,  and  was 
sent  on  its  way  for  three  months  of  ser- 
vice. From  Columbus  it  moved  to  Hamil- 
ton; then  back  to  Columbus  again;  later 

223 


WAR 

to  Zanesville,  and  at  last  across  the 
boundary  into  West  Virginia,  to  wear  out 
its  time  in  monotonous  guard  duty  along 
the  railroads.  No  wonder  most  of  the 
members  promptly  re-enlisted,  in  search 
of  some  real  Avar.  Be  it  known  that  they 
afterwards  got  it. 

Back  at  Oxford  all  was  still  excite- 
ment. Every  mail  brought  stacks  of  let- 
ters from  the  soldier  boys,  and  the  air 
was  charged  with  war  news.  The  Rifles 
had  hardly  left  the  station  when  a  new 
company — the  Home  Guards — was  being 
organized,  with  Professor  MacFarland  at 
their  head.  This  last  was  a  tactful  move, 
for  the  faculty  kept  its  patriotism 
cravenly  suppressed.  Lessons — the  base 
routine  of  Latin,  Greek  and  mathematics 
— actually  went  on  the  same  as  before! 
The  current  number  of  the  Miami  Month- 
ly is  a  bit  amusing  at  this  point.  "The 
paucity     of     students,"     remarked     the 

224 


WAR 

editor,  "has  not  in  the  least  interfered 
with  the  operations  of  the  College.  Daily 
chapel  exercises  have  been  just  as  regu- 
lar as  they  were  before,  and  the  door 
bolted  against  stragglers,  after  the  sec- 
ond bell,  just  as  securely  as  ever.  Les- 
sons have  been  just  as  long,  and  the  pro- 
fessors as  unintermitting  in  their  en- 
deavors. Grading  has  been  as  carefully 
observed  as  previously,  and  war  has  had 
no  effect  on  the  number  of  zeros.  In  a 
word,  our  number,  but  not  our  equani- 
mity, has  been  disturbed.  Students  may 
stop,  but  college  does  not.  War  may  go 
on,  but  so  does  Miami  University.  As 
long  as  one  man  remains,  there  are  eight 
professors  to  teach  him."  The  same  is- 
sue is  loaded  down  with  the  usual 
weighty  discussions  of  "Detail  in  Land- 
scape Painting"  and  "Ferdousi:  the  Per- 
sian Homer." 


225 


WAR 

It  was  no  child 's-play  to  preserve 
academic  tranquility  in  those  days.  Even 
the  simon-pure  patriots  were  obstreper- 
ous enough  at  times;  and  there  were  just 
a  few  disgruntled,  cross-grained  fault- 
finders hanging  about,  who  were  "agin 
the  government"  and  kept  busy  picking 
trouble  with  the  rest.  One  of  these  was 
promptly  handled  by  the  faculty  for 
"uttering  treasonable  sentiments  and 
hurrahing  for  Jeff.  Davis  and  the  so- 
called  Southern  Confederacy."  Later  a 
definite  rule  was  formulated  against  the 
public  parading  of  such  sentiments.  Pa- 
triotism effervesced  in  all  sorts  of  scrapes 
and  antics,  man}^  of  them  clustering  about 
those  fatal  "George  Days."  In  the  ab- 
sence of  other  military  features,  the  army 
canteen  was  patronized  liberall}^  about 
this  time.  A  fellow  had  to  do  something 
like  a  soldier.  Perhaps  young  Brice  was 
only  in  practice  for  foraging  duty  when 

226 


WAR 

he  was  called  on  the  carpet  for  confis- 
cating wood  and  shmgles  from  respected 
Oxford  citizens. 

In  Juno,  '62,  the  Home  Guards  got 
their  opportunity.  A  fresh  call  was  made 
for  troops,  and  those  fellows  who  had 
double-quicked  and  counter-marched 
about  town  for  more  than  a  year  could 
be  kept  down  no  longer.  Professor  Mac, 
their  drill-master,  was  urged  to  take  com- 
mand. The  faculty  argued  that  he  should 
go,  since  they  felt  largely  responsible  for 
the  fortunes  of  these  reckless  lads  en- 
trusted to  their  care.  At  length  he  con- 
sented, obligating  himself  to  accept  no 
appointment  that  would  remove  him  from 
his  boys.  Again  came  the  mustering  at 
Columbus,  this  time  with  the  86th  Ohio; 
and  again  the  weary  weeks  of  guard  duty 
in  West  Virginia.  Those  performances 
in  Oxford  had  their  reward  at  last  though, 
for  Captain  Mac's  boys  were    soon    fa- 

227 


WAR 

mous — and  accordingly  puffed  up — as 
being  the  best  drilled  company  in  the 
regiment;  and  the  captain  himself,  true 
to  his  pledge,  was  kept  busy  turning 
down  promotions. 

Before  this  three-months'  service  had 
expired,  Miami  was  called  upon  once 
more  to  save  her  country,  this  time  in  one 
of  the  opera-bouffe  episodes  of  the  war. 
Kirby  Smith  and  his  famous  rebel  raiders 
were  on  the  war-path  chanting  the  scalp- 
song,  and  rumor  had  it  they  were  headed 
straight  for  Cincinnati.  Volunteers  were 
called  for  in  a  panicky  way  all  over  the 
state,  and  Oxford  was  promptly  in  the 
field,  with  Charley  Fisk  of  Kentucky  in 
the  lead.  The  company  that  recruited  on 
the  campus  was  a  miscellaneous  assort- 
ment of  town  and  country  boj^s,  with 
such  students  as  were  still  on  the  prem- 
ises. No  time  had  they  for  the  gaudy 
fripperies  of   war.     Uniforms  were   un- 

228 


WAR 

thought  of,  tactics  were  delightfully  un- 
orthodox, and  weapons  were  of  all  ages, 
sizes  and  varieties,  just  what  they  were 
able  to  wheedle  away  from  grand-dad's 
care  or  purloin  somewhere  in  the  name  of 
the  state.  Such  nondescript  methods 
everywhere  gave  to  the  assembled  horde 
the  appropriate  name  "Squirrel-Hunt- 
ers," the  most  picturesque  of  all  Ohio's 
soldiery.  The  Oxford  company  made  its 
exit  with  as  much  eclat  as  anybody,  and 
did  yeoman  service  for  a  week  or  so, 
patrolling  a  lonesome  railroad  bridge 
which  nobody  had  the  remotest  intention 
of  crossing. 

Still  a  fourth  organized  body  of  Miami 
men  went  out  to  war,  once  more  com- 
manded b}^  popular  Captain  Mac.  This 
time,  however,  the  ratio  of  gown  to  town 
was  much  smaller  and  to  this  corporal's 
guard  Professor  MacFarland  was  not 
obligated  so  closely  as  before.    He  soon 

229 


W  A  R 

became  Lieutenant-Colonel  of  the  regi- 
ment, wliicli  was  his  old  86th,  reorganized 
for  six  months  more  of  duty.  Once  again 
the  little  Miami  delegation  was  the 
leaven  of  the  grimy  blue  lump,  and  a  sore 
temptation  to  its  former  captain  to  show 
rank  favoritism  in  his  new  authority. 
These  youngsters  drilled  and  plodded 
faithfully  through  the  routine  of  war, 
volunteered  among  the  first  for  danger- 
ous assignments,  and  cheerfully  over- 
stayed their  time  two  months  just  to 
break  the  stubborn  resistance  of  Cumber- 
land Gap.  That  little  siege  was  a  clever 
one  though;  and  only  a  great-browed 
mathematician,  skilled  in  permutation 
and  combination,  would  have  hit  upon 
the  final  plan  of  shuffling  numbers  on  the 
soldiers'  caps,  till  the  Southern  spies  be- 
lieved the  handful  of  regiments  a  vast 
and  crushing  army.  Some  veterans  of 
Tennessee  are  wondering  3^et  what  ba- 
sso 


WAR 

came  of  all  the  Yanks  who  besieged  that 
pass. 

In  the  course  of  the  war,  more  than 
four  hundred  Miami  men,  young  and  old, 
in  dusty  blue  and  spattered  gray,  tried 
out  their  courage  in  the  field.  They  found 
every  grade  of  service,  from  major  gen- 
eral of  volunteers  to  high  private  in  the 
rearmost  rank;  and  you  might  well  have 
met  a  few  of  them  ably  driving  commis- 
sary mules.  It  is  an  open  question 
whether  in  those  four  grim  years  the  real 
life  of  Miami  was  being  lived  along  the 
wind-swept  corridors  of  the  old  Main 
Building,  or  about  the  camp-fires 
of  Georgia  and  Tennessee.  The  local 
heroes  of  many  college  generations 
had  become  at  a  leap  swift-moving 
ministers  of  awful  vengeance  to  the 
enemy.  No  wonder  that  the  paltry 
narrative  of  schemes  and  escapades 
and    rainbow-hued     romance      is      soon 

^31 


WAR 


forgotten  when  the  minstrel  strings 
his  harp  and  chants  passionately  of  such 
martial  deeds.  Unft)rtunatel.y  for  us,  no 
minstrel  arose  when  these  stirring  songs 
were  fresh  and  new,  to  weave  from  them 
the  heroic  epic  of  Miami  in  the  War;  and 
only  a  fragment  or  so  must  serve  us  now. 
Probably  the  oldest  offspring  of 
Miami  in  the  conflict,  and  certainly  the 
most  exalted,  was  General  Robert  C. 
Schenck.  He  had  done  so  much  before 
the  war  began,  and  reached  such  national 
prominence,  that  his  very  honors  won  in 
politics  almost  thwarted  a  military  ca- 
reer. All  the  opposition  papers  shook 
their  yellow  sides  and  howled  with  glee 
when  Schenck  was  appointed  brigadier- 
general,  over  the  heads  of  a  score  or  so 
West-Pointers  who  knew  the  manual  of 
arms  backwards.  ''Turn  him  over  to  an 
orderly-sergeant,"  they  shrieked,  "and 
make  him  drill  like  the  Devil  for  a  month ! 


232 


WAR 

Maybe  then  he'll  know  enough  of  war  to 
command  a  company."  Schenck  only 
sawed  wood.  Out  on  the  London  and 
Hampshire  Railroad  there  were  signs  of 
trouble,  and  before  long  he  was  sent  to 
patrol  the  line  with  a  force  of  men  on 
flat-cars,  and  a  locomotive  pushing  in 
the  rear.  They  ran  straight  into  an  am- 
bush of  several  times  their  own  num- 
bers; and  the  engineer,  at  the  first  shots, 
unhooked  his  couplings  and  left  them  to 
fight  it  out.  General  Schenck  fought 
much  like  a  man  who  knew  how,  and  a 
clean  victory  against  great  odds  showed 
the  wisdom  of  Lincoln's  choice.  But  his 
friends  the  papers  took  care  to  belittle 
the  conflict,  and  tacked  upon  him  the 
well-earned  title  "Hero  of  Vienna." 
Only  they  gave  it  a  queer  sarcastic  twist 
sometimes  discerned  lately  in  such 
honorable  expressions  as  "Hero  of  San 
Juan  Hill." 

233 


W  A  R 

Maybe  the  old  political  campaigner 
had  much  to  learn  of  the  technicalities 
of  real  war.  Anyhow  he  had  mastered 
one  fundamental  fact  worth  knowing: 
the  necessity  of  the  soldier  ^s  absolute 
obedience  to  orders,  no  matter  what  the 
cost.  Some  of  his  younger,  book-taught 
critics  were  a  bit  unsteady  in  this  sort 
of  underpinning.  The  first  battle  of  Bull 
Run,  where  Schenck  commanded  a  brig- 
ade, gave  a  mighty  good  exhibition  of 
the  fighting  stuff  that  men  had  in  them. 
Just  as  the  Northern  retreat  began,  the 
General  got  orders  to  withdraw  his 
troops  as  far  as  Centreville,  halt  there, 
and  arrange  to  hold  that  point  against 
the  enemy.  He  did  so  as  a  matter  of 
course,  just  as  he  might  have  put  away 
his  supper  or  polished  his  boots  for  pa- 
rade. But  his  regimental  officers  took 
occasion  to  look  about  them.  Beyond 
them  and    on    either    side    panted    and 

234 


WAR 

struggled  a  retreating  horde  of  wild- 
eyed,  panic-stricken  men  in  blue.  Hot 
in  pursuit  came  the  Southern  forces, 
eager,  confident  and  overwhelming.  It 
was  suicide  to  halt  here,  said  these  colo- 
nels among  themselves,  and  then  they 
formally  protested  against  the  order. 
But  the  old  General  had  learned  his  one 
lesson  well.  This  position  at  Centreville 
must  be  maintained.  The  colonels  per- 
sisted; Schenck  threatened  them  with 
court-martial.  Off  in  the  distance  there 
was  a  sound  of  rebel  musketry,  and  regi- 
ment after  regiment  was  rapidly  thrown 
once  more  into  rough  marching  order 
and  headed  straight  for  Washington. 
General  Schenck  was  left  to  hold  Centre- 
ville with  his  immediate  staff  and  one 
orderly!  Fortunately  he  soon  received 
fresh  orders,  relieving  him  from  the  un- 
pleasant necessity  of  surrounding  and 
capturing  the  whole  Southern  army. 

235 


WAR 

But  here  lies  the  point.  Military  ex- 
perts have  since  decided  that  this  was 
the  critical  moment  and  Centreville  the 
strategic  point  at  which  the  Northern  re- 
treat might  have  been  turned  into  vic- 
tory, and  all  the  discouragement  and  an- 
guish of  that  disaster  prevented.  If  this 
much-maligned  son  of  Miami  had  been 
supported  b,y  his  men,  the  hero  of  Vienna 
would  have  been  hailed  by  the  united 
North  as  savior  of  his  country.  As  it 
was,  several  of  the  retreating  colonels 
got  to  Washington  in  time  to  be  pro- 
moted for  gallant  and  meritorious  con- 
duct. 

A  fine  old  fellow  was  Schenck,  always 
ready  where  the  nation  needed  him.  For 
a  time  he  did  a  charming  imitation  of  St. 
Patrick,  and  entirely  freed  Baltimore  of 
a  plague  of  "copper-heads."  Then  he 
]3lunged  into  the  fight  once  more,  and 
had  his  sword-hand  shattered  at  the  sec- 

236 


WAR 

ond  battle  of  Bull  Eun.  Here  his  old 
stubbornness  blazed  out  again,  in 
another  Quixotic  trick.  As  his  hand  fell 
limp  and  useless  at  his  side,  the  sword  he 
was  brandishing  flew  out  of  his  grasp 
and  was  lost  sight  of.  But  Schenck 
wanted  that  sword.  He  was  in  the  most 
exposed  portion  of  the  field,  with  bullets 
whistling  all  around  him.  His  men  were 
trying  their  best  to  get  him  to  the  rear 
out  of  further  danger.  Yet  he  would  not 
budge  an  inch  till  the  sword  was  found 
and  restored  to  its  bloody  scabbard. 
This  accident  ended  his  military  career, 
for  during  convalescence  he  was  elected 
once  more  to  Congress  and  persuaded 
that  his  larger  usefulness  lay  there. 

In  the  course  of  the  war,  it  is  a  fair 
estimate  that  there  were  several  thou- 
sand retreats  stopped — or  almost  stop- 
ped, charges  led,  ramparts  taken,  and 
days  saved.    Time  has  a  way  of  playing 

237 


W  A  R 

strange  pranks  with  militaiy  reminis- 
cences into  the  bargain.  But  it  is  sur- 
prising, when  you  go  to  figuring  on  these 
psychological  moments  of  conflict — as 
the  novelists  say — how  many  times  you 
find  a  man  from  little  old  Miami  right  at 
the  pivot  of  the  whole  event.  This  is  no 
place  to  try  to  cite  them  all.  Somebody 
would  be  sure  to  be  omitted  and  his  rela- 
tives would  feel  hurt.  You  are  familiar 
already  with  the  few  that  follow. 

In  the  engagement  at  Stone  River 
fought  a  young  Colonel  of  Cavalry, 
Minor  Millikin  by  name.  In  college  he 
was  the  Adonis  of  his  class,  the  nimblest 
athlete  and  the  politest  gentleman  about 
the  campus.  In  the  few  years  since 
graduation  he  had  studied  and  traveled 
abroad,  and  founded  him  a  home  almost 
in  the  shadows  of  the  Oxford  hills.  Dur- 
ing the  battle  his  regiment  was  ordered 
to  rei)el   the    attacks   of   Rebel    cavalry 

238 


WAR 

upon  the  rear.  These  had  become  so 
serious  that  nothing  but  a  charge  would 
affect  them.  Tlie  enemy's  forces  were 
much  larger,  but  Millikin  himself  led  the 
regiment  in  a  mad  gallop  across  the 
fields.  In  a  few  minutes  he  found  him- 
self, with  a  handful  of  followers,  cut  off 
from  his  command.  Surrender  was  not 
thought  of;  they  must  cut  their  way  out. 
The  Colonel  was  a  master  of  sword-craft, 
and  was  fast  making  way  against  a 
group  of  desperate  foes;  but  just  as 
safety  was  in  sight,  one  angry  opponent 
whipped  out  a  pistol  and  shot  him  dead, 
while  he  was  parrying  the  fierce  thrusts 
of  the  others. 

The  fortunes  of  war  spared  another 
child  of  Miami,  with  the  same  signs 
upon  his  shoulders,  to  lead  his  regiment 
of  Ohio  lads  in  the  charge  that  made 
Stone  River  a  Northern  victory.  Thus 
it  happened  that  when  the  Army  of  the 

239 


WAR 

Cumberland  entered  Murfreesboro,  it 
was  Col.  Thomas  C.  Bell — once  just  Tom 
Bell,  of  '57 — that  rode  in  triumph  at  the 
head  of  the  column.  Col.  James  H.  Childs 
was  paid  in  diiferent  coin  for  the  daring 
he  displayed,  plunging  his  troops  into 
the  fatal  chaos  of  Gettysburg.  His  was 
the  coin  that  Millikin  accepted,  the  pure 
red  gold  of  heroic  sacrifice. 

Enough  of  this  empty  tabulating. 
Turn  to  a  like  picture  whose  details  were 
stamped  for  life  on  the  receptive  mind 
of  our  own  soldier-poet,  and  are  re- 
counted by  him  with  the  stirring 
old-time  eloquence  at  which  Runkle 
is  adept  enough.  "How  well  I  re- 
member," runs  his  reminiscence,  "that 
15th  of  May,  1864,  now  more  than 
forty  years  agone,  when  at  Resaca  the 
division  in  which  I  was  serving  swung 
into  column  and  moved  to  the  support  of 
the  4th  corps  attacking  the  enemy's  en- 

240 


WAR 

trencliments.  Wounded  men  were  being 
hurried  to  the  rear:  ambulances  stream- 
ing blood  drove  rapidly  past  us.  Moving 
into  line  we,  there  in  full  view,  waited 
and  watched  the  ebb  and  flow,  the  surg- 
ing rush  of  battle ;  saw  the  long  blue  lines 
with  flying  colors — nowhere  do  those 
colors  stand  out  so  magnificently  grand 
as  in  the  tumult  of  battle — with  flying 
colors  move  up  through  the  withering 
fire,  while  the  throbbing  guns,  like  trem- 
endous heartbeats,  kept  time  to  the 
battle  stride.  Forward  and  back  and  for- 
ward, again  and  again,  swayed  the  lines; 
heavier  grew  the  pall  of  gray  smoke 
while  the  deadly  rattle  of  the  rifles  and 
shriek  of  shells  told  that  men  were  dying 
in  red  anguish  by  the  hundred.  At  last 
the  Union  lines  swept  over  the  works; 
the  battle  flags  leaped  clear  of  the  smoke 
as  their  bearers  sprang  on  the  parapets. 
The  enemy  gave  way.    Cheers  rang  down 

241 


WAR 

the  eliarging  lines  and  rolled  back  to  the 
supports  as  out  of  the  confusion  and  car- 
nage came  the  remnant  of  a  volunteer 
brigade  with  four  captured  guns;  and 
the  leader  who  took  them  in,  and  brought 
them  out  victorious,  was  Ben  Harrison 
of  Miami.  When  he  was  made  President 
of  a  saved  Republic  a  great  man  found 
his  reward." 

Side  by  side  with  the  heroism  and 
the  suffering  must  come  the  romance  of 
war.  Somehow  Runkle  always  suggests 
that  combination,  whether  you  look  upon 
him  today  with  his  wavy  diadem  of  grey 
locks  above  his  glittering  regimentals,  or 
picture  him  maimed  and  left  for  dead  at 
Pittsburg  Landing,  while  "Agate,"  scrib- 
bling out  a  reputation  at  the  front,  paused 
in  his  grisly  enumeration  of  dead  and 
missing  to  publish  to  the  world  his  tribute 
to  the  man  he  fought  and  loved  in  college 
halls.    Reid,  too,  suggests  in  his  person 

242 


WAR 

aucl  career  the  romance  of  the  conflict. 
When  the  first  gun  was  fired  he  was  a 
rather  delicate  stripling  of  twenty-three, 
recently  promoted  from  a  country  news- 
paper to  a  staff  position  with  the  Cincin- 
nati Gazette — stipulated  salary,  $6.00  per 
week.  Almost  as  soon  as  he  settled  upon 
West  Virginia  with  pad  and  pencil,  his 
vividly  picturesque  correspondence  be- 
gan attracting  national  attention. 

He  praised  McClellan  until  that  gen- 
tleman was  called  to  Washington  and  pro- 
moted. Later  he  criticised  him  till  the 
Gazette  owners  were  called  upon  to  apolo- 
gize. He  followed  Rosecrans  and  com- 
mented on  certain  weaknesses  in  the  Gen- 
eral's policy  in  a  way  that  was  particu- 
larly pleasing  to  the  Rebel  commanders 
who  read  Northern  newspapers.  In 
Donelson  and  Shiloh  Reid  found  his 
rarest  opportunity,  and  the  fine  virile  pic- 
tures of  those  intense  struggles  which  he 

243 


WAR 

scratched  off  amid  tlie  din  of  battle,  not 
only  enthralled  his  eager  public  then,  but 
are  still  known  as  masterpieces  of  their 
kind.  From  the  field  to  Washington; 
from  reporter  to  editor  and  proprietor; 
from  journalist  to  diplomat:  such  prog- 
ress reads  like  a  fairy  tale.  But  the  wise 
ones  will  tell  you  how  they  predicted  all 
of  it,  some  fifty  years  ago,  in  the  old  top- 
floor  sanctum  of  the  Erodelphian  Society. 
This  very  day  there  is  in  Oxford  a  fine 
old  family  that  is  never  without  a  re- 
spectable and  well-mannered  cat  at  its 
fireside.  And  the  name  of  this  cat  is  al- 
ways Joe  Battle.  When  newcomers  ask 
foolish  questions,  they  learn  that  the 
name  is  a  tradition  of  the  household,  run- 
ning back  before  the  war,  when  Grand- 
father Cone  kept  the  now  dismantled 
Mansion  House  and  knew  and  loved  the 
Miami  boys.  His  favorite  was  Joel  Allen 
Battle,  a  lithe,  keen-eyed  dare-devil  of  a 

244 


WAR 

Southerner,  with  a  silver  tongue,  a  tender 
heart  and  a  temper  of  fire.  Nobody  ever 
questioned  Battle's  ability.  The  faculty 
never  ranked  him  with  the  "  Dignissimi. " 
He  hadn't  time  for  that.  But  in  the  liter- 
ary hall  he  found  few  to  match  him  in 
the  tangles  of  debate;  and  often  amused 
himself,  when  he  had  floored  a  rather  easy 
victim,  by  coming  back  with  a  telling  ar- 
gument in  behalf  of  the  opposition. 

Joe  Battle  was  a  fellow  of  strong  likes 
and  dislikes.  His  circle  of  friends  fairly 
worshiped  him.  Outside  the  circle,  un- 
der the  stress  of  those  hot-headed  ante- 
bellum days,  he  often  strained  his  temper 
to  the  breaking  point  and  got  his  name  on 
the  faculty  minutes.  Apparently  his  was 
a  name  that  had  a  real  significance.  Dear 
old  Ben  Battle,  of  glorious  memory,  was 
never  intended  more  definitely  to  be  a 
"soldier  bold."  The  process  of  getting 
used  to  war's  alarms  came  soon  enough. 

245 


WAR 

Preparatoiy  to  it  came  a  series  of  pranks 
and  wilder  escapades,  winding  up  with  a 
specimen  of  the  manly  art  of  self-asser- 
tion which  sent  little  Dutchy  Roemler  in- 
to arnica  and  bandages  for  a  period  of 
days. 

Finally  Battle  was  graduated  in  due 
order  with  the  class  of  '59.  He  soon  mar- 
ried a  girl  from  the  North  and  settled  in 
Cincinnati  to  study  law.  He  realized  that 
a  national  conflict  was  impending,  and 
frequently  declared  to  friends  that  when 
it  came  he  could  not  fight  against  the 
flag,  nor  yet  against  his  kinsfolk,  and 
would  probably  go  abroad  during  the 
struggle.  But  the  call  of  the  South,  echo- 
ing in  the  guns  about  Sumter,  came  to 
him,  as  to  many  another  fine  young  fel- 
low, in  the  tone  that  could  not  be  ignored 
or  disobeyed.  He  became  adjutant  of  his 
father's  regiment,  the  20th  Tennessee, 
and  received  his  first  wound  at  the  battle 
of  Mill  Springs. 

246 


WAR 

It  was  Tuesday  morning,  the  eighth 
of  April,  1862.  The  41st  Illinois  and  the 
31st  Indiana  were  encamped  on  opposite 
sides  of  a  crude  roadway  through  the 
woods  about  a  mile  from  Pittsburg  Land- 
ing. For  miles  about  were  the  relics  of 
the  great  conflict.  Nine  thousand  corpses 
from  both  armies  strewed  the  battle-field, 
and  fifteen  thousand  wounded  were  re- 
ceiving such  care  as  was  possible.  Out 
of  a  tent  on  the  Indiana  side  staggered 
Clifford  Ross,  a  bit  unsteady  from  the 
scalp  wound  of  some  days  before.  Two 
Union  men  were  plodding  up  the  road 
with  an  inert  mass  in  gray  between  them. 
They  paused  to  rest,  laying  their  burden 
at  Ross's  very  feet.  Such  attention  to 
Confederate  gray  aroused  his  curiosity 
and  he  drew  back  the  edge  of  the  blanket. 
Ross  had  been  at  Miami  with  the  class 
of  '59,  and  for  the  past  two  nights  in  his 
delirium  had  mingled  and  conversed  with 

247 


WAR 

the  jolly  dogs  back  there.  Now  he  blamed 
it  to  the  fever,  as  he  looked  straight  into 
the  sightless  eyes  of  that  j  oiliest  of  all, 
Joe  Battle. 

The  detail  explained  how  it  was.  An 
Ohio  surgeon,  who  knew  Battle,  had 
found  him  dead  upon  the  field,  and  sent 
them  with  the  body  to  their  own  camp. 
With  broken  voice  Ross  persuaded  them 
to  entrust  to  him  the  proper  disposal  of 
the  remains.  He  recalled  that  another 
Miami  man,  Lewis  of  Illinois,  was  en- 
camped across  the  way,  also  slightly 
wounded.  Between  them  they  hunted 
out  several  others  of  the  old  college 
crowd  and  proceeded  to  their  mournful 
duty.  The  coffin  was  rudely  constructed 
of  cracker-boxes.  The  monument  was  a 
massive  oak,  beneath  whose  branches  the 
shallow  grave  was  hollowed  out.  Name 
and  date  were  burned  into  a  board,  which 
was  nailed  to  the  tree.  ' '  The  means  avail- 

248 


WAR 

able  were  rough,"  says  one  of  that  little 
group,  "but  I  could  not  have  asked  for 
a  brother's  more  than  we  did  for  his 
body."  And  he  adds:  "I  believe  no  more 
brave  and  noble  soul  left  its  body  on  that 
bloody  field."  Thus  did  the  brother-love 
from  old  Miami  reach  across  the  gulf  of 
war,  faithful  to  the  ver^^  end. 

As  Miami  men  knew  how  to  fight,  so 
did  they  know  how  to  win — or  lose. 
When  the  articles  of  peace  were  drawn, 
and  Johnny,  swarthy  and  bewhiskered, 
came  marching  home  again,  to  scorn 
feather-beds  and  retrieve  the  family  for- 
tunes, there  were  none  more  reliable  amid 
the  delirious  chaos  than  these  college 
men.  Those  who  had  graduated  before, 
and  been  maturing  in  these  campaign  ex- 
periences, stepped  naturally  to  the  front 
in  their  communities,  and  soon  Captain 
So-and-So,  and  Colonel  Somebody-else — 
college  men  and  good  soldiers,  sir — were 

249 


WAR 

headed  for  the  Legislature  or  for  Con- 
gress, to  swell  the  honor-roll  of  Miami's 
men.  Others  of  the  younger  set,  their 
education  interrupted  by  the  years  of 
war,  drifted  back  to  the  living  green  of 
that  old  campus  on  the  hill,  to  wash  away 
the  stain  of  battle  in  its  Pierian  springs. 
Bob  Adams,  for  instance,  big,  strap- 
ping, red-haired  Bob,  who  had  led  the 
file  in  the  old  University  Rifles,  and  near- 
ly walked  the  little  fellows  off  their  legs 
— wonderful  fortunes  of  war  were  his! 
After  his  first  three  months  he  had  or- 
ganized a  company  in  his  home  town,  and 
soon  became  its  captain  in  the  81st  Ohio. 
He  was  promoted  rapidly  to  Lieutenant- 
Colonel, — then  to  the  command  of  the 
regiment.  In  the  Atlanta  campaign  he 
commanded  a  brigade  and  was  brevetted 
Brigadier-General  at  the  close  of  the  war. 
Then  what?  Back  he  came  to  old  Miami, 
took  up  his  books  and  lessons  just  where 

250 


\V   A   R 

he  had  thrown  them  down,  earned  and 
received  his  sheepskin,  and  went  out  into 
the  world  to  preach  the  peace  of  Qod  that 
])asseth  understanding. 

There  is  another  side  to  it.  Not  all 
Miami  men  came  back  from  the  war. 
Some  young  careers  of  splendid  promise 
ended  there  in  the  deafening  conflict,  and 
none  can  ever  estimate  the  value  of  the 
toll  Death  took.  The  ashes  of  mourning 
on  new  household  altars,  the  tears  of 
heart-seared  mothers  and  young  wives 
express  the  anguish  of  it  all.  But  while 
we  reckon  up  the  list  of  those  who  made 
the  final  sacrifice,  we  only  wonder  what 
those  3"0uthful  heroes  might  have  lived 
to  be. 


251 


mE  mwmi!m€i!im^ 


THE  war  was  a  sore  trial  for  Miami 
in  more  ways  than  one.  Not  only 
did  she  give  of  her  best,  and  offer  up  her 
sons  on  reeking  altars.  Her  regular  at- 
tendance fell  away  badly  and  the  area 
of  her  patronage  and  influence  was  nar- 
rowed. The  South,  for  instance,  was  cut 
apart  from  her  forever.  Her  land  rents 
had  been  long  before  prevented  by  law 
from  ever  increasing  beyond  a  beggar's 
pittance;  while  other  colleges,  springing 
up  all  over  the  land  with  the  revival  of 
confidence  and  prosperity,  lavished 
money  on  salaries  and  equipment.  Peo- 
ple professed  to  find  the  good  old  curricu- 
lum away  out  of  date,  but  there  were  no 
funds  in  the  Miami  treasury  to  establish 

253 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

new  chairs  and  add  new  furbelows.  Tui- 
tion fees  helped  some,  but  depleted  rolls 
meant  depleted  income.  The  state  did 
arrange  to  pay  the  tuition  of  such  of  her 
soldiers  as  cared  to  attend  college,  and 
Miami  profited  considerably  by  these. 
But  her  buildings  were  obviously  in  de- 
cay, her  campus  was  untended,  and  her 
whole  material  outfit  cramped  by  chronic 
poverty. 

Among  other  things  there  was  a 
change  of  administration,  with  some 
bitter  feelings.  Doctor  Hall,  a  fine  South- 
ern gentleman  of  the  old  school,  who  with 
rare  tact  and  splendid  self-control  had  di- 
rected the  affairs  of  this  patriotic  north- 
ern college,  found  at  last,  when  the 
struggle  was  over,  that  hostility  had 
arisen  and  his  usefulness  was  ended. 
President  Stanton,  his  successor,  was  an 
able  manager  not  given  to  mincing  words 
about  necessities.    Witness  this  from  his 

254 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

inaugural  address:  "But  the  main  edi- 
fice, crowning  yonder  beautiful  elevation, 
in  which  is  the  chapel,  with  the  library, 
the  society  halls,  the  grammar  school, 
and  certain  recitation  rooms,  is  a  dilapi- 
dated pile,  presenting  its  broken  panes 
to  the  howling  winds  of  autumn,  its  shat- 
tered roof  to  the  drenching  rains  of  sum- 
mer, and  its  doorless  halls  to  the  drifting 
snows  of  winter;  the  butt  and  jeer  of  all 
passers-b}^  fair  game  for  the  ruder  boys, 
a  grand  old  monumental  pile  for  preserv- 
ing the  quaint  architecture  of  a  bygone 
age,  but  repulsive  to  every  gentleman 
who  brings  his  son  to  the  University,  and 
a  standing  reproach  and  a  shame — I  say 
it  respectfully — to  every  one  who  claims 
the  University  as  his  alma  mater." 

As  you  might  infer,  this  dolefully 
realistic  tale  was  prelude  to  a  money- 
getting  scheme,  which  was  projected  at 
that  time,  and  prolonged,  with  numerous 

255 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

modifications,  throiigh  the  entire  admin- 
istration. For  a  short  time  the  skies  were 
roseate.  Funds  were  secured  for  con- 
siderable repairs,  culminating  in  a  new 
west  wing,  and  therein  a  new  chapel  with 
real  stained-glass  windows.  The  state 
legislature  was  being  petitioned  at  each 
session  to  extend  aid  to  this  child  of  its 
adoption,  and  everybody  assured  every- 
body else  that  some  day  this  aid  was  com- 
ing. Uncle  Sam  had  created  his  Agricul- 
tural College  fund  for  the  states,  and 
Miami  people  sat  up  nights  figuring  what 
to  do  with  their  share  of  that — when  they 
should  get  it.  On  the  whole  the  Stanton 
administration  opened  auspiciously,  to 
close  with  renewed  discouragement. 

Through  all  the  darkest  days  of  finan- 
cial stress,  students  were  on  hand  in  at 
least  confortable  numbers.  The  quaint 
architecture  of  bygone  days  looked  just 
as  good  to  them  as  the  stained-glass  win- 

256 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

dows  of  awful  artistry — even  as  it  has 
to  some  people  since  that  time.  The  fac- 
ulty might  have  been  few  in  number,  but 
they  were  great  men  and  noble  teachers, 
and  from  each  one  of  them  flowed  cease- 
less currents  of  inspiration  and  benedic- 
tion. Stoddard  was  still  there,  pottering 
about  his  little  laboratory,  and  leading 
Presbyterian  singing  on  Sunday.  Bishop 
was  there,  shrewd,  kind-hearted,  and 
sharp  of  tongue,  zealously  guarding  the 
campus  from  all  live-stock  but  his  own. 
MacFarland  had  laid  aside  his  regimen- 
tals and  was  absorbed  as  of  old  in  orbits 
and  eclipses,  but  never  to  the  neglect  of 
the  boys  he  loved.  Soon  was  to  appear 
one  Andrew  D.  Hepburn,  to  create  the 
new  department  of  English  Language 
and  Literature,  on  the  strength  of  father 
McGuffey's  assurance  that  he  was  a 
promising  young  man.  Who  cares  for  a 
purple  window-pane  more  or  less  in  such 

257 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

an  environment?  No  wonder  those  boys 
stayed  through  their  four  years  of  royal 
associations,  and  gladly  sent  back  others 
to  partake  of  the  privileges. 

Whatever  anxiety  may  have  preyed 
upon  faculty  or  trustees  about  the  some- 
what clouded  future  of  the  University, 
no  care  sat  brooding  over  student  hearts. 
Ever.y  fellow  in  the  crowd  felt  sure  that 
money  would  keep  coming,  since  money 
had  already  appeared  for  some  first  im- 
provements. They  knew  little  of  the 
vigorous  feats  of  man-handling  and  pan- 
handling resorted  to  in  securing. this  pit- 
tance, and  less  of  the  constant,  crying 
need  for  more.  Anyhow,  no  poverty 
could  limit  that  richest  gift  the  college 
student  ever  knows — the  sheer  joy  that 
comes  from  living  young  life  to  the  limit 
of  its  exuberant  possibilities.  .  Literary 
societies  flourished  as  of  old,  and  their 
public  exhibitions  were  still  the  marvel 

258 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

of  the  countryside.  The  female  colleges 
were  prospering,  and  social  gayeties  were 
rampant.  The  Miami  Student  became 
the  regular  college  publication.  The 
Recensio  was  inaugurated  as  a  college 
annual.  Greek  fraternities  enrolled  large 
membership  and  acquired  new  confi- 
dence. The  Dekes,  for  instance,  invested 
good  money  in  putting  a  third  story  on 
a  long  narrow  business  house  then  going 
up  in  the  village,  and  thus  acquired  a 
Mahomet's  coffin  of  a  chapter-hall,  the 
first  fraternity  property  owned  in  Ox- 
ford. 

Many  things  among  this  student  body 
were  growing  distressingly  modern.  The 
annals  of  the  time  are  filled — would  you 
believe  it  ? — with  such  things  as  glee  clubs 
and  baseball!  And  in  the  Miami  Stu- 
dent for  December,  1867,  there  is  a  long 
and  formal  article  decrying  the  atrocious 
practice  Miami  men  have  of  assembling 

259 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

about  church  doors  after  divine  service 
to  stare  at  the  college  girls  as  they  file 
out!  That  glee  club,  by  the  way,  was  a 
flourishing  institution,  and  had  a  regular 
habit  of  badly  financed  concert  trips.  Of 
one  of  these  a  college  poet  has  warbled, 
somewhat  maliciously : 

"The  half-box   of  collars  and  four   or  five  dollars, 
With   which    every   singer   had   started, 
Had   from    day    to    day   been    dwindling   away 
Till  the  last  collar  and  cent  had  departed. 

With  all  their  reverses  and  draining  of  purses. 
They  still  kept  in  sight  of  their  glory, 
Till  civic  dissensions  upset  their  intentions. 
And  also  put  a   stop   to   my   story." 

Baseball  was  then  just  coming  into  its 
own.  It  was  no  child 's  play  either,  in  the 
original  package.  Curved  balls  were  un- 
dreamed of,  and  the  pitcher  just  stood  up 
and  sent  hot  straight  ones  whistling  over 
the  plate,  that  left  a  pale-green  streak 
in  the  air.  There  were  no  great  padded 
gloves,  either,  and  when  the  batsman 
smote  that  whistling  sphere  square  on 
the  nose  and  turned  it  into  soaring  fly 
260 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

or  careening  grounder,  horny  bare  hands 
were  all  there  was  to  stop  its  progress. 
It  is  not  surprising  that  scores  were 
enormous  under  such  conditions,  and  it 
was  a  poor  "club"  that  didn't  register 
at  least  forty  '* tallies"  in  a  single  con- 
test. Neither  is  it  surprising  that  the 
young  game  was  frequently  attacked  as 
rough  and  dangerous,  and  needed  con- 
stant defense  in  words  like  these:  "We 
are  aware  that  there  are  some  objections 
to  the  game  of  baseball,  and  that  these 
objections  are  being  urged  by  some  of  our 
ablest  writers;  but  where  is  there  another 
exercise  so  eminently  fitted  for  develop- 
ing the  bone  and  sinew  of  our  youth,  that 
is  not  attended  with  the  same  danger'?" 
Nearly  every  able-bodied  Miami  man  be- 
longed to  a  baseball  club,  and  the  roster 
of  these  organizations  appears  proudly 
in  all  the  old  publications,  right  beside 
the  Greek  fraternities  and  the  literary  so- 
cieties. 

261 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

There  was  one  up-to-date  extension 
of  Miami's  activities  that  didn't  cost  any- 
thing. Prompted  by  recent  experience, 
the  national  government  decided  to  in- 
stall military  departments  in  a  number 
of  colleges,  where  an  officer  of  the  regular 
army  should  drill  youngsters  in  the 
theory,  as  well  as  the  tactics  of  war. 
Doctor  Stanton  fairly  leaped  at  the  op- 
portunity and  soon  had  little  old  Miami 
placed  upon  the  list,  with  Colonel  Carle- 
ton  detailed  to  teach  the  young  idea  how 
not  to  get  shot.  The  boys  were  elated — 
at  first.  Some  of  the  old-timers  who  had 
seen  service  were  strangely  apathetic. 
But  the  younger  fry  could  hardly  wait  to 
get  their  fingers  on  a  musket  and  tog 
out  in  the  fine  new  uniforms  for  a  stroll 
past  the ' '  Scott  House. ' '  Two  new  photog- 
raphers hurried  into  town  on  prospect 
of  the  beauteous  military  likenesses  to  be 
sent  home  to  mother.  All  too  soon  came 
262 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

the  reaction.  The  cloth  for  the  uniforms 
was  all  winter  in  arriving,  and  then  was 
so  flimsy  that  the  modest  fellows  blushed 
in  anticipation  every  time  they  thought  of 
bending  over.  The  equipment,  to  be  do- 
nated by  the  state,  was  even  slower  than 
the  uniforms.  The  drill  was  irksome  and 
the  discipline  severe.  What  was  the  use 
of  all  this  i^anoply  of  war,  anyhow? 

Then  some  bright  youth  saw  a  light. 
These  things  would  do  splendidly  to  play 
pranks  with.  One  biting  winter  night 
the  battalion  went  into  action,  without 
awaiting  orders  from  the  Commander. 
The  University  cannon  was  stealthily 
drawm  from  its  hiding-place,  and  pushed 
and  pulled,  with  great  pretense  of  se- 
crecy, to  the  commanding  hill  just  in 
front  of  the  Western  Seminary.  Aunt 
Helen  was  to  have  an  appropriate  mid- 
night salute.  The  old  gun-barrel  was 
packed  almost  to  bursting,  a  long  fuse 

263 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

was  attached  and  lighted,  and  the  cohort 
beat  it  double-quick  to  white  and  peace- 
ful coverlids  in  the  dormitories.  There 
was  an  explosion  on  the  hill  that  brought 
all  the  little  maidens  bolt  upright  in  bed 
and  got  the  volunteer  fire-fighters  ready 
for  immediate  action.  There  were  shrieks 
and  moans  and  cackles  through  the  halls 
for  some  fifteen  minutes;  and  then  the 
Seminary,  being  schooled  in  philosophic 
self-control  and  assured  there  was  not 
another  fire,  dropped  back  into  pleasant 
dreams  of  blue-eyed  missionaries  with 
sandy  whiskers. 

Next  morning  brought  the  sequel.  A 
husky  group  of  young  Amazons  took  that 
horrid  old  field-piece,  shoved  it  daintily 
over  the  somewhat  slippery  brow  of  the 
snow-clad  hill,  and  let  it  roll  and  rattle 
down  the  incline  until  it  sank  beneath 
the  waters  of  the  little  frog-pond  below. 


264 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

Just  about  that  time  somebody  up  at 
Miami  remembered  that  the  old  cannon 
was  state  property,  and  would  have  to  be 
accounted  for  or  paid  for.  Paid  for? 
Whew !  Doctor  Stanton  had  things  under 
way  in  ten  minutes,  and  it  was  not  long- 
till  the  culprits  were  located.  There  was 
only  one  punishment — restore  the  gun. 
From  morning  till  night  they  toiled  and 
muttered  in  the  icy  waters  of  that  West- 
ern pond,  while  numerous  coy  young 
ladies,  who  were  afraid  of  "snakes," 
made  audibly  unpleasant  remarks  from 
the  heights  above.  Colonel  Carleton  him- 
self was  popular,  but  there  were  few  re- 
grets when  he  was  withdrawn  from  the 
University  and  the  department  closed. 

But  bless  you,  pranks  didn^t  stop  for 
anything.  Doctor  MacFarland  still  tells 
with  delight  of  his  experience  in  a  spring 
carniA'al  where  a  certain  Junior  caught 
a  Tartar.     It  was  one  of  those  stifling 

265 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

moon-soaked  nights  just  before  com- 
mencement, and  there  was  deviltry  in  the 
very  air.  First  the  Juniors  got  into  ac- 
tion, and  removed  the  furniture  from 
Doctor  Stanton's  office  and  class-room, 
can\ying  it  all  the  way  to  the  "Scott 
House"  and  leaving  it  on  the  much- 
abused  flower-beds.  Hardly  had  they 
left  the  building  when  the  Freshmen  ap- 
peared, eager  to  acquire  some  of  the 
spirit  of  the  institution.  They  promptly 
went  to  work  filling  the  vacated  rooms 
with  fragrant  new-mown  hay  from  the 
campus,  adding  a  liberal  sprinkling  of 
cord-wood  and  scrap-iron.  About  this 
time  Professor  Mac  noticed  the  disturb- 
ance and  sauntered  over  to  take  notes. 
Hardly  had  he  settled  in  the  shadows  of 
the  stair  when  the  Juniors,  flushed  with 
achievement,  returned  and  rushed  the 
Freshies,  intending  to  scare  them  out  of 
their  callow  wits.  At  this  point  the  pro- 
266 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

fessor  stepped  from  the  stairway  and  al- 
lowed himself  to  be  grappled  by  the  Jun- 
ior leader  w^ho  came  dashing  down  the 
halls.  ''I've  got  him!"  j^elled  the  captor, 
taking  no  gentle  grip  on  the  supposed 
Freshman  collar.  Now  war  experience 
will  tell  sometimes,  and  Professor  Mac 
had  seen  too  much  service  not  to  meet  an 
enemy  half  way.  There  was  a  sound  of 
frenzied  tussling,  the  vision  of  a  shape- 
less, struggling  heap  in  the  moonlight, 
and  then  the  same  Junior  voice,  hoarse 
with  terror,  was  lifted  up  in  one  mighty 
wail,  ''Run,  fellers,  run!  He's  got  me!" 
About  this  time  old  Oxford  herself 
was  perking  up  quite  a  bit,  thank  you. 
For  years  she  had  rejoiced  in  a  real  rail- 
road that  went  nowhere  in  particular, 
had  boasted  two  hotels  that  shared  the 
business  of  one,  and  had  absorbed  culture 
in  heroic  doses  from  Erodelphian  exhibi- 
tions and  the  public  examinations  at  Ox- 
267 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

ford  College.  In  the  decade  following  the 
outbreak  of  war,  three  or  four  imposing 
two-stor}^  business  houses  w^ere  erected; 
and  it  is  hard  to  stop  a  wave  of  civic  im- 
provement once  started.  The  reformers 
fixed  hostile  eyes  on  the  old  market- 
house  between  the  parks,  with  its  yawn- 
ing emptiness  inside  and  its  ungainly 
tower  above.  Once  it  was  the  pride  of 
the  community.  Now,  they  said,  it  had  to 
go,  to  make  room  for  a  modern  town-hall 
where  the  populace  might  assemble  on 
festal  days,  and  the  fire  laddies  stow  their 
pretty  red  helmets.  Many  of  the  popu- 
lace, who  had  taxes  to  pay,  demurred  at 
this,  and  the  project  gave  signs  of  being 
talked  into  insensibility  around  the  stove 
of  the  corner  grocer}^  Then  the  Miami 
students  took  a  hand.  They  reasoned  it 
this  way.  As  long  as  the  village  had  in- 
tact one  piece  of  public  property  like  the 
market-house,  civic  economy  would  never 

268 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

permit  her  to  tear  this  down  and  build 
better.  Ergo,  some  disinterested  party 
should  do  the  tearing  down. 

One  inky  night  the  student  body 
moved  eji  masse  upon  the  market-house. 
The  procession  looked  like  a  well-equip- 
ped lynching  bee,  for  there  trailed  behind 
them  the  longest,  strongest,  most  mur- 
derous-looking rope  to  be  had  in  Oxford. 
A  half-dozen  climbed  to  the  tower  and 
securely  knotted  the  rope  about  it,  while 
every  fellow  below  spat  on  his  hands  and 
gripped  hard,  waiting  for  the  signal.  Oh, 
nothing  much — they  had  just  arranged  to 
pull  down  the  tower  and  help  the  village 
on  a  bit.  The  signal  came,  likewise  the 
tug.  The  structure  creaked  and  groaned, 
and  slowly  seemed  to  give  a  little.  Then 
suddenly  "Crack!"  Also  "Kerplunk!" 
With  military  precision  four-score 
breathless  students  sat  down  hard  in  the 
Main  Street  mud  and  gave  imitations  of 
269 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

a  back  somersault.  Something  had  had 
to  give  way,  and  it  was  the  rope.  Four 
successive  times  they  patched  up  and 
pulled  again — each  time  with  greater 
caution;  and  finally,  sore  and  disgusted, 
stumbled  off  through  the  darkness  for 
home.  But  jo}^  cometh  in  the  morning! 
For  breaking  day  disclosed  the  edifice  no 
longer  mocking  them  in  its  perfect  pride, 
as  they  had  feared,  but  actually  pulled 
b}^  sheer  muscle  some  thirty  degrees  out 
of  plumb,  where  it  remained  for  years 
as  a  monument  to  student  enterprise — 
the  leaning  tower  of  Oxford.  For  be  it 
known,  that  town  hall  wasn't  built  for  a 
long  time  afterward. 

In  many  respects  the  quaint  old  mar- 
ket-house, with  its  drooping  top,  and 
yawning,  wind-swept  interior,  was  sym- 
bolical. The  time-honored  structure  of 
historic  Miami  was  crumbling  in  decay, 
though  the  short-sighted  patronage  that 
270 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

laid  hands  to  the  rope  could  not  complete 
its  destruction.  All  too  soon  the  winds 
were  to  howl  through  its  deserted  corri- 
dors, while  newer  institutions  profited  by 
its  legitimate  patronage.  To  the  last, 
students  continued  to  gather  in  goodly 
numbers  and  were  unswerving  in  their 
loyalty  to  the  decrepit,  purse-pinched  old 
establishment.  To  the  last  the  old  Miami 
spirit  was  manifest,  and  the  old  fire  of 
common  devotion  shone  in  the  eyes  of  all 
the  faithful  in  those  student  ranks. 
Right  before  them  loomed  dissolution, 
bringing  severed  ties  and  clouded  ambi- 
tions. But  they  forced  the  old  smile 
somehow,  and  the  old  songs  rang  bravely 
from  their  lips.  Finally  the  demands  of 
advancing  education  became  such  that 
the  limited  resources  failed  completely 
to  meet  them.  The  trustees  confessed  the 
absolute  necessity  of  closing  the  Univer- 
sity until  land-rents  had  accumulated  to 

271 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

a  working  capital.  With  the  Commence- 
ment exercises  in  1873  the  doors  of  Miami 
were  formally  swung  for  the  last  time  on 
their  clumsy  hinges,  and  the  village 
live-stock  invited  to  feed  at  will  upon 
the  luscious  campus  they  had  coveted  so 
long.  Faculty  and  students  drifted  into 
other  centers  of  learning  throughout  the 
land,  and  old  Miami  became  a  glorious 
memory. 

For  twelve  years  this  memory 
lingered,  and  then  the  public  would 
be  content  no  longer.  Alumni  fairly 
pined  away  each  June,  without  the 
privilege  of  sauntering  once  more  be- 
neath the  elms  and  swapping  reminis- 
cences. Then,  too,  they  had  fine 
young  sons  to  educate — just  like  their 
daddies,  bless  their  hearts —  and 
there  was  nothing  like  a  few  years  of 
that  old-time  Oxford  life  to  put  a  young 
fellow  on  his  feet  before  the  world.     So 

272 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

the  people  clamored  and  the  trustees  did 
sums  in  arithmetic,  and  at  last  the  pro- 
cess of  rejuvenation  began.  Even  then 
the  commonwealth  was  slow  to  realize 
its  responsibility;  but  as  it  gave,  Miami 
prospered,  to  a  degree  beyond  the  fond- 
est limits  of  ambitious  fancy. 

At  last  the  hour  of  jubilee  has  come. 
Aggressive  modern  methods  have  supple- 
mented the  precious  but  antiquated  tra- 
ditions of  the  past.  New  buildings  now 
dot  the  spacious  campus,  redolent  of 
paint  and  prosperity.  Corridors  are 
thronged  with  busy  students,  just  as  am- 
bitious and  as  callow  as  of  yore.  The  old 
name  is  retained,  with  no  thought  of  any- 
thing but  a  becoming  reverence.  Miami 
is  a  high-grade  small  college,  with  all  a 
small  college's  advantages,  and  as  such 
has  already  achieved  a  new  and  national 
reputation  for  sincerity  of  effort  and  ex- 
cellence of  result.    But  no  true  child  of 

273 


THE     RECONSTRUCTION 

her  bosom  will  ever  cease  to  honor  those 
splendid  ante  helium  years  when  she  was 
"The  Yale  of  the  West." 


THE  END. 


274 


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